Fragments
by Thor
Summary: A Malkavian deals with a murderer, and then must solve the crime. (Be forewarned. Very unusual style.) Then...ever wonder how Malkavians enforce the law? (Ch. 5 up, Skinner gets his answers questioned and deals with Donovan.)
1. Part 3

Greetings to thee o brave reader who dare so faceth this tale of tribulations through time. I would first off like to offer a couple bits of thanks to my inspirations. First to Greyflank and his Claude in Nice stories. They really helped me develop a few ideas for properly developing Donovan into a Malkavian. I would also like to thank Linda for the many hours spent being the beta reader in order to make sure someone could actually follow the story. Lastly I'd like to thank Marv, who's mental incapacities lead to the original idea for the story. Now, tread carefully as you actually step into the mind of a Malkavian and see that it's nothing but...

Fragments: A Tale of Detroit 

Epilogue: The Future Remembered 

My claws sink deep into his throat. He gasps and looks at me in wonder as his blood flows down my arm. For some reason it all seems familiar to me. He tries to choke something out, all I can hear is a gurgle. The blood froths around my claws. I snarl at him and twist my hand, blood soaked claws tearing apart soft flesh. His head is severed, it falls to the ground with a dull thump and bounces lightly and then it's over. I look down at it as the snow billows around me. Far below the horns and cars of the city can be heard. I'm standing on the roof of a tall building. On the ground nearby are two other dead bodies.

I look down at the old man I've just killed. I turn to look at the other two. One is a young man with short spiked bleached blonde hair. His face has a look of shock and betrayal on it. Next to him is a middle aged woman with the face of a statue. Her dark hair is pulled back into a simple bun, her elegant features are splattered with blood. There's a hole in her chest right where her heart should be. Her crystalline eyes are locked open in pain, staring up into the snow dripping clouds above. I glance at myself, I'm spattered in blood and gore, and there's only one question I have.

What the hell have I done now? 

* * *

Chapter One: Ruminations of Blood 

* * *

Hello there, I'm the rubber band man. You might ask why, it's very simple. Did you ever feel as though you had a sense of deja vu'. Deja vu' you say? Deja vu' is memories that seem familiar, thoughts already had, feelings already felt. A minor flash of bother in your calm and linear existence. But not for me. For me deja vu' is all too real at times. My world is a world of flashes and half glimpsed existence. My mind snaps back and forth within my world like a ball on a string...like a rubber band. I always try to grab on, try to figure out what's happening. But then, inevitably, the rubber band snaps again and I'm off to a new place and time.

Other then that I'm pretty normal. As a matter of fact I do my best to just deal with it. Normal you say? Yes, it is, at least for me. I'm a Malkavian. That means I'm part of a clan of vampires known for exhibiting madness. In some of us it gets pretty bad, I've seen some Malkavians amongst the Sabbat who've degenerated into lunatic, childlike murderers. I've met another who was certain that his pet rat told him what to do. Of course some of us are pretty plain. Like Jilean, primogen of our clan in Detroit. I don't even know what her problem is, but she seems pretty normal.

Fact is it's the normal ones that worry me. Sure they might just be obsessive about keeping their home spotlessly clean, but you never can be sure. Watch the normal ones, it's the mad ones you can trust. It can be rough, everyone who knows about Malkavians knows we have to be at least a little loony. It can make for a difficult first impression. Oh him? That's Bob the Malkavian, he's insane. You can bet our clan isn't exactly trusted either. Who'd want to trust a certifiable loon with anything?

That's why I'm glad I'm normal. It gives me a chance to interact better with those who get to know me, just so long as they realize that I may act like I just met them, because for me...I am. I live in Detroit now, but it's only for a while. I travel a lot, keep moving around. Something in me just likes to keep things fresh and interesting. Also, if I stay one place too long my memories can really start to get jumbled. Detroit's okay, even if my clan is weird. I know that seems strange to say about a bunch of Malkavians. But the clan here in Detroit even gives me the willies. They just seem a little extra...unhinged. Especially Jilean, however normal she might be. She's not my type of normal. Me? Oh yes, you can trust me. 

* * *

I'm in a hotel room. I'm sitting on a chair looking at the bed. There's a dead girl on it, a blackened hole in her chest. I catch a whiff of burning, burning flesh and burning paper. I glance over, a wastepaper basket nearby has some burning bits of paper in it. Nothing more then ash and embers now. My left arm hurts. I look at it, I've been shot. I try to use some blood to heal but it's a no go, whoever shot me used a phosphorus round. Phosphorus you say? Phosphorus, a chemical that can burn without air and under water, a nasty burning annoyance, used by vampires to kill other vampires. Guess that explains the burned flesh smell. Guess that means she's a vampire too. But who is she? Why is she dead? Why am I here? Why is she here? Why was I shot? Who did the shooting?

With a condition like mine you learn some tricks. You see, I remember most of what happens to me. Just, I don't remember it all in all times. The other problem is sometimes it's too quick or strange for it to stick. Other times it's just that I'm put into a place where I haven't already experienced how I got here. Like now. Last I remember is a nightclub. I had just left a meeting of my clan and gone to a nightclub. Is that where I met her? Look for the note. Notes, handy things. I generally try to leave myself one or two in any given time flash, it customarily helps me later on. I'm wearing my usual black slacks and turtleneck sweater with a leather jacket. I reach into my jacket pocket. I pull out the notes.

'You have a room reserved at the Marriott Royale on East Timberlake St. Rent has been paid for until the first of March 2001'

'Her name is Samantha, you think you love her'

'Keep an eye out for Tony, he owes you a big favor 213-473-1982 Beware his lies'

'Help Samantha. She's scared of her sire, Decker. Why?'

Samantha? I stand up and walk over to her. Her face is slack, the bullet tore right into her heart. I look down at the poor creature, she doesn't look a day over sixteen. What sort of monster would embrace her? What sort of monster would kill her? She's dressed in a loose black dress, her face is pale, her lips and eyes have black makeup on them. I run a hand along her soft black hair. Samantha, I think I loved you, and now you're dead.

I'm not even left with the memories of our time together. How had it been? Did you feel the same? How did it sound when you laughed? Did your eyes twinkle, did your lips curl slightly upwards at the sight of me? Did we dance, did we cry, did we love? I step back from her, I see the gun laying on the ground nearby. The gun! I walk over and pick it up. A revolver, I open the drum and look at the two empty spots where bullets should be. It's the murder weapon! I write myself a note.

'The revolver killed Samantha and shot you in arm. Phosphorus rounds. Serial number 2648Z.'

Samantha, I never got to know you. But I will, I'll get a chance to live through the bittersweet time we'll have together. I only hope I was worth it to you. I slip the gun into my pocket as I decide what I have to do. Revenge. It's an ugly word for an ugly feeling. But that's the feeling I have. I'll trace the gun, I'll talk to her friends. I'll find out who did this and I'll make them suffer for it. I kiss her once on the lips before I go. 

Samantha, my dead, unremembered love. I'll never forget you. There's a snap, and I'm gone. 

* * *

"I don't think the boss cares to see you."

There's a gorilla who's learned to shave standing in front of me. His dark beady eyes glare at me as he stands in the doorway of a large condo. I'm holding the torn remains of a note in my hands. I'm dressed up in some god awful powdered blue lounge lizard suit with a yellow tie. I hate yellow. My arm hurts. I grin up at the gorilla, it's obvious I was here to get in. But the question is how to get by him peacefully. I don't seem to remember having much cash...I reach into my pockets and my hand closes around a folded up bill. I pull it out and glance quickly at it. Well, well, things are going my way for once tonight. I hold it between two fingers in front of him.

"Are you sure the boss doesn't want to see me? I have an appointment."

The gorilla eyes the twenty for a few moments. I can almost see the gears in his brain turning. Finally he nods to me, his cheeks wobbling with the movement. His hand reaches up and grabs the money as he steps slowly out of my way. I put my hands in my pockets as I wander into the condo. I pull out my notes with one of them as I look around. It's a nice place, all furnished with expensive stuff. The gorilla escorts me into a large sitting room. A couple men are inside of it and talking. One of them is a dark skinned fellow with an eye-patch. The other two are young men with broad shoulders and strong chins. The last is an old man with bushy eyebrows and a white beard, he's holding an ornately carved cane.

"Boss, this man says he needs to see you."

The old man looks at me curiously. Eye-patch scowls and slips his hand inside his jacket. I hold up the tattered halves of the note I was holding and put them next to each other so I can read them.

'Decker will be at his condo on Lacainam drive. The house with a green door. Till one'

Decker. I know him. He's a Malkavian too, part of the clan in Detroit. A sudden image of a pale faced girl with a hole in her chest flashes through my thoughts. I quickly dig out my other notes.

"Ah, Donovan. What are you doing here?"

Decker watches patiently as I pull out my notes. He probably realizes I'm not exactly sure why I'm here. There's a bit of an unwritten rule in the clan. If we're being polite we don't mock other clan member's little quirks. I read over my notes before looking back up. Some have gotten wet and smudged in places.

'Her name is Samantha, you think you love her'

'Keep an eye out for Tony, he owes you a big favor 213-473-1982 Beware his lies'

'Help Samantha. She's scared of her sire Decker, why?'

'The revolver killed Samantha and shot you in arm. Phosphorus rounds. Serial number 2648Z.'

'Called Tony about gun, ....... owes me'

'Crystal will get you a meeting with Decker 213-921-7392'

'Crystal will help against Decker and others, she seeks.......trust her'

'Watch for the ...'s agents'

"Hello Decker. I need to talk to you about Samantha. Do you remember Samantha?"

"Who?"

"Samantha, you should remember her. Young girl, black hair, pale skin." I pull up a pen and another note as I talk. Decker is shaking his head in confusion. "You should remember her you bastard. She was your childe, and now she's dead!"

"My childe? Donovan, think about it. I don't have any childer. You've gotten confused again...unless. Are you remembering the future again?"

I jot down a note as I consider his answer. I'm not remembering, I have notes. The notes don't lie because I wrote them. If you lie to yourself it's just very sad. But why is he saying what he's saying? Is he trying to fool me? Use me? 

"How did you find me Donovan? I don't tend to advertise where I live."

"Crystal was able to tell me," I say with a slight grin. "It was easier to find you then you'd like to imagine."

I'm of course perhaps lying here. I have no idea how hard it really was to find him. But, better he thinks me more capable then I really am. It might help intimidate him. However he doesn't look intimidated, he looks angry. His hands grip the handle of his cane tightly, his thin lips slowly curve downward.

"Crystal? That Ventrue harlot? What has she been telling you Donovan. What's going on here?"

I write down a bit more. I look back up at Decker as he stands from his chair and walks towards me. There's a snap, and I'm gone. 

* * *

Chapter Four: The Final Piece First 

* * *

"Wow m'man, you look like you've seen better days!" 

I glance up from my drink. I'm in a bar. Neon lights flash around me. I can feel the hunger inside, I must not have eaten recently. My arm is sore. I glance up at the figure even now sliding onto the bench across from me. Young kid, his short hair spiked up and bleached blonde. Pulsing green lights slash across his pale handsome face, he grins at me. His red silk shirt and black leather jacket practically scream vampire wannabe. But a glimpse at his aura proves he's the real thing. I've met him before...I know I have.

"If you know me then I suppose I've mentioned my condition?"

I always ask that. It helps me to remember to mention it. It helps cut down on confusion. Except of course for the confusion of people who can't believe I might know the future before I know the past. What they can't seem to grasp is that I cannot change it. If I've seen the future that means I'll be going there soon enough, and my past can't affect it because it has already happened. That is why I cannot save Samantha, I can only seek revenge.

"It's me, Tony. I knew there was a chance ya wouldn't recognize me. It's always sorta fun to see what phase of time you seem to be in. So man, what'cha up to?"

What indeed? I remember the hotel room, I must have gone out to find the information on the gun. Unless I've already done that, or have yet to even be in the hotel room. I go for my notes, only I'm not wearing my jacket. I'm still in that powder blue lounge lizard suit, replete with a yellow tie. I hate yellow. Luckily my notes are in the pocket, looks like some got wet and are hard to read.

'Her name is Samantha, you think you love her'

'Keep an eye out for Tony, he owes you a big favor 213-473-1982 Beware his lies'

'Help Samantha. She's scared of her sire Decker, why?'

'The revolver killed Samantha and shot you in arm. Phosphorus rounds. Serial number 2648Z.'

'Called Tony about gun, ....... owes me'

'Crystal will get you a meeting with Decker 213-921-7392'

'Crystal will help against Decker and others, she seeks.......trust her'

'Watch for the ...'s agents'

'Decker denies Samantha. Hates Crystal, might try to hurt her. He tried to kill you.'

I've been busy. The notes flip through my hands quickly as I scan them, facts given without the right reference. But you learn to be good at knowing what you meant, you learn not to put too much in case the wrong person reads them. I glance up at Tony and nod to him, yes, it's Tony. He sits back waiting quietly, his eyes flick around though. He seems calm, but he isn't. He seems comfortable, but he watches everything. I glance back at my notes and find the one about him again. His lies...I should be careful. I flip the note over and glance at the back, there's a second note scrawled quickly on it.

'Will have to be removed when no longer useful'

"So Tony," I put away my notes and glance up at him. "Did you do the favor for me yet?"

"Sure as hell I did," he reaches into his jacket and pulls out some rolled up papers. "It took some real maneuvering to get the info as quickly as you wanted it, but I managed." 

He shoves the papers towards me with an excited flourish. He knocks my drink over, spraying the tabletop and myself with coffee. I curse and wipe at the stains. As though this suit wasn't ugly enough already. He grows very still and looks at the stain in surprise.

"Holy shit, you were talking about that? Damn I'm sorry, I should've known with it being you and all. Anyway, here's the info. You can look it over and all but it's exactly what you told me it'd be. The gun was owned by Decker. I even found some of the guys he went hunting around to when he was getting the phosphorus rounds."

I take the papers and read over them. Yes, this is what I was looking for, the proof. Decker did it, he killed his own childe in cold blood and for no apparent reason. With this I could even get the prince and his men off my ass and hunting the right ass. But...why should I do that? After all, I've gone through this much, I suppose I should see it to the end. Besides, Decker has enough clout he might just buy his way out of the mess by promising all sorts of favors. No, he killed Samantha, and now he's going to die. I write myself a note, Tony watches.

"Oh man, you're seriously going to go and do it aren't you? Man, you never seemed the type." He runs a hand through his hair nervously and lets out a gusty sigh of breath. "Look...I still owe you for more then just this research is going to pay back. How about I come with and make sure everything goes okay?"

I glance up at him suspiciously. 'Beware his lies'. He has lead me to Decker, he says he's a friend. He does owe me though. I nod and write out a second note before we go. There's a snap, and I'm gone. 

* * *

I'm standing in a well furnished sitting room. The walls are bright white and covered with large paintings of shattered black landscapes. A large red throw rug lies across the white tile floor. A design of an intricate star within a circle sewn within it. There are a pair of black leather chairs placed around a low black glass table. Standing behind one of the chairs is a pair of young men. Both in nice gray suits, both blonde, both blue eyes. Sitting in the other chair is a dark complexioned man with an eye-patch. He has his hand tucked inside his black trench coat. Standing directly in front of me is an old man leaning on a black rune covered cane. His bushy white eyebrows nettle together as he stares at me with his beady black eyes.

"Decker!"

Here he is, I don't need any more information then that. I remember Samantha you bastard. I know what you did to her! My fist is a quick blur as it lashes up and catches him across the jaw. I hear the satisfying crunch of his jaw dislocating. My arm explodes in pain, it was already damaged. My other hand drops towards the revolver in my jacket. Only thing is, I'm not in my jacket. I'm dressed up in that damned hideous powder blue lounge lizard suit, replete with a yellow tie. I hate yellow. My brief pause costs me. I'm suddenly lifted off the ground as a pair of massive arms wrap about my chest. The brute who grabbed me grunts in satisfaction, his breath stinks of egg salad.

Eye-patch has hopped to his feet, his hand drawing a silver handled magnum out from under his coat. I quickly jerk my head back. My skull connects with a crack onto the nose of the guy holding me. He grunts again, only this time in pain, and drops me. I quickly leap to the side as I reach under my powdered blue coat for the lump of weight I felt there. My fingers close around the handle of the revolver as I roll back up to my feet only a few steps from Decker. He looks at me in surprise as he struggles to stand, blood leaking from his mouth. I pull out the revolver and point it at his face.

"This is for Samantha!"

I pull the trigger, there's a wet pop and a bit of smoke leaks from around the barrel. Decker's eyes flare wide in fear, and then narrow in anger.

"Misfire! Get the little bastard!"

I quickly turn and hurl the gun into the face of one of the two golden lads. He yelps in pained surprise as it splatters his nose over his face. His friend leaps at me, I quickly snap up my foot, it connects hard with his jaw. I break a toe...he loses some teeth. Suddenly a freight train slams into my gut. I'm tossed back to slam against a wall. I look up in surprise as the huge figure who grabbed me storms forward. I kick out sharply into his knee as he bends over me. I hear the dull pop as it dislocates. He staggers and collapses as I roll to the side and back onto my feet. Eye-patch sneers at me as he slaps his hand down quickly on the hammer of his gun, fanning the magnum. The bullets smash into me like tiny cannonballs. I'm again tossed back against the wall, only this time I stay down. I groan weakly as I slump to the ground, my body torn open. 

"What the hell were you thinking Donovan? You shouldn't have let Crystal get into your head. Now it looks like I'll have to deal with both of you."

There's a snap, and I'm gone. 

* * *

I'm running down a dark back street alongside a river. The chill night wind rushes over my face. The black waters of the river gurgle and slosh in the darkness. My arm hurts. I come to a stop. I straighten my leather jacket and look around. Where am I? What was I doing? Why was I running? Even as I'm reaching into my pockets for my notes somebody slams into me from behind.

"Got you!"

Ah, that explains it. I was running away from this guy. I'm thrown forward to land hard on the pavement of the sidewalk. He grabs the back of my head and pushes my face into the ground. I hear the click of a gun hammer being pulled back. Obviously I was running from him. Obviously he means me harm. Thus it's obvious what my reaction needs to be. I do appreciate when I don't have to second guess my actions. I'd hate to think I hurt someone when I shouldn't have. I quickly shove my hand into my jacket and grab the revolver waiting there. I feel him press his gun to the back of my head. I twist the revolver so it's pointing up through the back of my jacket. I fire.

I hear him scream in pain as his weight suddenly lifts off me. I roll up to my feet. My jacket is on fire. I curse and bat at the small flame. My assailant is getting back to his feet, his right arm clutching his side. He's a young guy, dressed all in black with a black trench coat. For some reason I seem to recall him being a deputy of the sheriff. They're hunting me for killing Samantha. Bastards. As though my pain at losing my love wasn't enough. The young man's eyes suddenly shift behind me, I feel a sudden chill.

Then the shadow wraps around my throat. Of course! The sheriff of Detroit is a Lasombra, surely so would be some of his flunkies. I gag and struggle in the freezing grip of the living tendril of shadow. The young man charges forward quickly. His arm snaps out and slams into my gut. I feel a rib pop as I double over in pain. He quickly spins to the side and clubs both of his arms onto my back. More bones splinter as I collapse to the ground. His foot skips out, his boot crashing hard into my face. I'm lifted up a few feet and spin around before the shadow tether suddenly grows taunt and pulls me back to crash hard onto the pavement.

This guy hits like a tank! I better do something quick, or I'm dead! I growl as my fingernails suddenly elongate. Sharpening and forming into brutal talons. The Lasombra curses and quickly hops back. I take the second of free space to rip my claws into the shadowy tentacle holding me. The inky blackness shreds apart under my blow, I'm free again. I spin towards him, but he's pulling out another gun. That's bad, I only have a partially loaded revolver and I'm a lousy shot. I spin away from him and run for it. There's no nearby cover, so I take the next best option. Two bullets slap into my back and rip through my body as I leap up onto the guardrail. I leap off and sail through the air down towards the black waters of the river below. I hit hard, sinking deep. The freezing black depths close in about me. There's a snap, and I'm gone. 


	2. Section 2

Fragments: A Tale of Detroit 

My clan is a clan of fools and losers. The only bigger losers are those who believe that makes us useless. My clan is useless. Use less. Use less bothersome mistakes and you'll get to the correct answer faster. But the answer is never as it seems, especially to my clan. The clan of fools and losers. Clan you say? Clan is a family, a brotherhood, a collective gathering. My clan is called Malkavian. We, the collective body of that clan, are Malkavians. We are vampires. Vampires you say? Vampires, bloodsuckers, living corpses, the undead, monsters. My clan is a clan of monstrous fools and losers. Monstrous as in the monster, not the quantity. Though the quantity of foolishness is quite high.

My clan is known for madness. It is in our blood, it eats our souls. The other clans fear us. For we are wild and untamed. The other clans ignore us. For we are undirected and hopeless. The other clans mock us. For we are mad. Mad as in insane, not angry. I am mad. Mad as in angry not insane. Why do they dismiss us so? Why do they think they know what goes on within our skulls? Have they opened them up, looked inside? Yes. Some have, but inside is only gray matter and blood...cracking open skulls offers little in the way of answers. The other clans are clans of fools and losers. 

* * *

I'm standing on a snow swept rooftop. The chill night wind blows across my face, rustles through my hair. There's an old man standing near the edge of the building. His face is twisted up in a scowl, his bushy white eyebrows nettled together. He grips a cane tightly in his hands as he eyes me. Kneeling behind him is a woman. Her face is that of a sculpture. Her perfect features are no less beautiful for the look of fear on her face. She wraps her arms about her lush body, her thin, steel gray dress rippling slightly in the stiff wind. A man with spiked, bleached blonde hair stands in front of me. I'm pressing a magnum into his back. My arm hurts.

"Well, well, well. I never expected to see you again," sneers the old man. "I suppose you're still upset over that whole Samantha delusion of yours?"

I sneer back at him, Samantha is real. I know that. I quickly reach into my pocket. I'm not wearing my usual leather jacket and black sweater. Instead I'm in a hideous powdered blue lounge lizard suit with a big brown stain on the front and a yellow tie. I hate yellow. I pull out my notes and glance them over.

'Her name is Samantha, you think you love her'

'Keep an eye out for Tony, he owes you a big favor 213-473-1982 Beware his lies'

'Help Samantha. She's scared of her sire Decker, why?'

'The revolver killed Samantha and shot you in arm. Phosphorus rounds. Serial number 2648Z.'

'Called Tony about gun, ....... owes me'

'Crystal will get you a meeting with Decker 213-921-7392'

'Crystal will help against Decker and others, she seeks.......trust her'

'Watch for the ...'s agents'

'Decker denies Samantha. Hates Crystal, might try to hurt her. He tried to kill you.'

'Decker owned the gun, he killed Samantha. Kill him'

'Tony is up to something, I think he plans on killing you'

'Decker is going to kill Crystal, you need to help her and deal with his men'

On the flip side of Tony's note is another little scrawled message. 

'Will have to be removed when no longer useful' 

I glance up at Decker and Crystal. He was obviously about to try and toss her over the edge. Probably make a good suicide cover story, and destroy enough of the body she couldn't heal from it. But that's not going to happen. I keep the gun pointed at Tony's back, no telling what he might try next. I sneer at Decker and then motion to Crystal.

"Get up, get over here. Decker, you better not try anything!"

Crystal stands up slowly, her face changing from fear to hope. She warily backs away from Decker and then turns to walk towards me. The wind washes over her statuesque face. A few stray strands of her luxurious hair blow softly about her face. Tony seems to stiffen as she comes closer.

"Damnit Donovan, what's going on. I told you she was a duplicitous bitch. You can't be bothering to save her. Let Decker kill her if he wants, then kill Decker. That way Decker can die happy, and you'll be rid of her to boot."

"Quiet you fool," hissed Crystal in anger. Her face shifting into a perfectly sculpted mask of anger. Yes, she is beautiful no matter the emotion or expression. "You let your hot tempered Brujah blood control you overmuch. Go ahead Donovan, deal with Decker. Don't listen to that idiot."

Decker grows stiff. Crystal smiles slightly. I glance back at my notes. 'Tony is up to something...plans on killing you...don't trust him...will have to be removed.' I look at Crystal, and then back to Tony. He stands nervously, his back still to me. I remember another note, about Crystal. 'trust her.'

"Crystal, you think I need to kill Decker?" She nods. "Tony, you think I need to kill Crystal?" He nods. I grin, it's obvious. "Sorry, but my notes call you a liar. And they're never wrong."

I fire quickly, the bullets tearing through Tony's back. He gasps in surprise as he falls to his knees. I toss the gun away as my fingernails extend into curved claws. Tony twists to look up at me, a look of shock and betrayal on his face. I sneer at him as my claws rip deep into his back and tear apart his insides. He manages one last whimper before he falls dead to the ground.

"Good show," said Crystal with a small sigh. "Now don't you think you ought to get Decker?"

"Don't do anything you'll regret boy. You hardly seem to know who you need to kill."

"No old man, I know you need to die. That's one of the things I'm absolutely certain about."

I spring for him, my claws out. He suddenly raises his staff and points it at me. I ignore the apparently pointless gesture as I charge for him. Suddenly a small sphere of flame sprays out of the tip of the staff and slaps into my chest. I howl in anguish as I stagger back. I quickly turn and fall onto the snow covering the roof. The fire is quickly quenched by the moist snow. I smell the burnt stench of my own scorched flesh and the putrid tang of burning polyester. I hear Decker starting to run, he knows he needs to get out of here. I push myself up, the fire was painful, but not debilitating, and at least it destroyed the tie.

I leap to my feet with a growl as I rush for Decker. We both run for the door that leads down into the office. It's the only escape route he has. He's got a slight lead on me, his movements fast and frightened. I curse and run for all I can, I run for Samantha. But he's too far ahead, he nears the door. Suddenly a loud crack splits the night. Decker gasps and staggers, his hand clutches at his chest as blood bubbles forth from a large hole there. I slam into him, casting him down onto the snow. I plant my foot on his chest as I look over at Crystal. She smiles slightly at me as she saunters over, the smoking magnum still in her hands.

"Do it Christopher, finish him off now!"

"Thanks Crystal, you're a doll."

Her bright eyes sparkle under the clouded sky. The snow drifts slowly down around us. I turn to look down at Decker as he weakly writhes on the ground. My claws flex slightly as I smile down at him, my fangs glinting in the lights of the city. There's a snap, and I'm gone. 

* * *

I'm sitting in a diner. Sickly fluorescent light washes across me as I stare down at the table. My notes are in a small pile next to my hand. A hand that clutches a note. 

'Crystal will get you a meeting with Decker 213-921-7392'

A woman sits across from me. Her face is that of a statue, carved by the hands of a master. A steel gray evening gown hugs her graceful body. A soft shawl of pale ivory is wrapped loosely about her bare shoulders. Her flashing crystalline eyes watch me carefully as her glistening lips are curved into a gentle smile. Ah, that must be Crystal. She grins slightly.

"So, do we have a deal?"

"What deal?"

"Yes, exactly." She laughs at that, her gemstone eyes glinting brightly from her flawless face. She's very beautiful when she laughs. "I'll see you soon Christopher. Call me in a few hours."

She turns and walks out of the diner. She left a twenty to pay for her dollar's worth of coffee. I glance back at the note in my hand and nod. Good, Crystal will help me out, get me the meeting, need to call in a few hours. I stand up and drop two crumpled dollars on the table. I pocket the twenty. I walk out of the diner as I'm pulling out my notes. I stand by my car and write a second note. I write how she'll help me, and how she's trying to control me. I know that much, even if I haven't been through the meeting yet. I'm starting to write about the call times when I hear a voice.

"Hey man, short time or long time no see?" 

I glance up at the figure stepping out of the shadows of a nearby alley. A young man, face smiling. His hair spiked up and bleached blonde. His hands resting on his hips. His leather jacket open despite the cold. I know him...it's Tony. He grins as he walks forward. He doesn't seem to be armed. Of course not, why would he. He's your friend, he's trying to help.

"C'mon, admit it. You and I were probably just meeting a few minutes ago, and here I am!"

"Tony...oh damn. I'm really sorry. I didn't know, I made a mistake."

"What? You talking about that phone crap? Don't sweat it man, I was just tense. I really wasn't all that pissed. It's just that your condition can get a little annoying at times."

A little annoying he says. He has no idea. He will though...he will. I consider writing a note to warn myself, but I won't. It wouldn't matter. If I did write a note I would have lost it. So I might as well not bother. I try to smile back at him, but I'm feeling too guilty. Ah Tony, I've wronged you my friend.

"I know this isn't about the gun, It's not the club. So what is this all about?"

"Well, let's just say Tony has his ways of keeping track of things. I got lots of ears to the ground hereabouts." Tony shakes his head as he leans in to whisper to me. "Crystal. She's bad news. She wants to kill Decker and claim up some bits of the city he controls. Don't ask me how she knows you're after Decker, but I wouldn't trust her. Go on, write it down so you'll know. You can't trust her."

I look down at the note in my hand and add that bit on. 'Tony says don't trust her' Should I tell him that will get him killed? I know it will. I know I can't change it. I fold up the note and tuck it into my pocket.

"Thanks Tony. I'm not sure if I'll ever get the chance again to say it. You're a real friend."

Tony shrugs and turns to walk off. I watch his back as he walks away. His solid, still intact back. I'm sorry my friend. I'm sorry, and goodbye. He suddenly turns as he reaches the alley, almost as though he'd heard my final farewell.

"Hey, by the way. I hear tell that Octavian's found that Samantha girl in your room. The Camarilla will probably be hunting for you now. You might want to keep a low profile for a few weeks."

I nod in thanks for the warning. I pull out my pen and a note again. I feel a low growl in my belly. When did I last feed? Why am I feeling so low on blood? I'm not sure, it doesn't make sense. I start to write a warning about the Camarilla. There's a snap, and I'm gone. 

* * *

I'm in a trunk. You'd be surprised how often I wake up in one. Though usually I put myself in them. When others put you in a trunk it's a bad sign. I can hear the engine running, can feel the car going over bumps in the road. I've been shot up, I must have just finished healing up from the damage. My arm hurts. They were pretty confident not to stake me. Pretty confident...and pretty stupid. I twist around till I'm pressing up against the part of the trunk that's set against the back seats. The fingernails of my hands lengthen and sharpen into razor-sharp nails. I start digging my way through the seats, and listening...

"How about there?"

The first voice is deep. A big fellow, he doesn't sound too smart either.

"No," the second voice mutters. He sounds overly nasally for some reason. "The boss said we should make sure the body don't turn up for a few days. I reckon maybe going and dropping him in the river."

"That could work."

The hole is big enough I can see them now. The nasally guy has a busted nose. Blood is spattered over his handsome face. He's driving, his bright blue eyes watching the road. Next to him sits a genetic throwback to the Cro-Magnon. He's glaring out his window and not paying much attention. He stinks of egg salad. We're in my car, it looks like it was ripped up pretty bad. I wonder what happened? Oh well, I'm pretty sure I know the score here at least. I reach out to the driver's mind, such an easy task. His pathetic mind strikes out blindly and clumsily at me. As helpless as a newborn babe. I don't do much, I just open his eyes.

"Yaaaagggghhh!"

He suddenly jerks the wheel to the side. Horns honk and blare as he cuts across a lane of oncoming traffic. The bruiser bellows in confusion, his arms flailing about. I rip through the rest of my seat and pull myself into the back. The brakes squeal as he slams them on, still screaming.

"What the hell's the matter?"

The big lug reaches out for his friend. Too late does he notice me in the rearview mirror. My arms lash around the headrest. My claws sink into his throat. Blood sprays the dashboard as I rip his head half off. The bright eyed driver is still screaming. Screaming at his dead friend, screaming at me, screaming at the empty alley in front of us. He fumbles with the door. I launch myself onto him, my claws closing about his head. I pull him back against the seat and whisper into his ear.

"What's going on?"

He doesn't seem to take the question very well. He starts frothing in fear and struggling against me. My fangs glint in the darkness as I laugh at his struggles. My bloody claws tear trails into his skin as he pulls against them. He fumbles with the door as his other hand wildly bats at me. I laugh at him and allow some of the terror to fade away. His movements slow, his breathing calms. He suddenly goes still.

"Don't kill me."

"You don't understand."

"Please, I'll do anything, I'll tell you anything. Just don't kill me."

"I won't lie to you kid. I'm going to kill you."

"Then I won't say anything," he half sobs, as though it should impress me.

"Oh, but you will. You see, if you talk I kill you. If you don't say anything I put you back the way you were and leave you here."

He stops breathing. His blue eyes trace up to meet mine in the rearview mirror. I grin at him. Sweat breaks out across his face as he slowly nods.

"Okay, I'll talk."

He does. I kill him. I start up my car as I pull out my notes.

'Her name is Samantha, you think you love her'

'Keep an eye out for Tony, he owes you a big favor 213-473-1982 Beware his lies'

'Help Samantha. She's scared of her sire Decker, why?'

'The revolver killed Samantha and shot you in arm. Phosphorus rounds. Serial number 2648Z.'

'Called Tony about gun, ....... owes me'

'Crystal will get you a meeting with Decker 213-921-7392'

'Crystal will help against Decker and others, she seeks.......trust her'

'Watch for the ...'s agents'

'Decker denies Samantha. Hates Crystal, might try to hurt her.'

I add onto the last one that Decker tried to kill me. Those two were his ghouls. I had gone to the meeting and they had taken me down. I seemed to recall starting it, but I could be wrong. It didn't matter anyway, now I knew Decker was up to something. I glanced back at my notes, Tony, I should call Tony and see what he found out. I can't believe I haven't yet. I must have been distracted. I find a pay phone and use some of the cash I found on the ghouls to pay for the call.

"This is Tony, what's happening?"

"It's Donovan, did you trace that gun yet?"

"Whoah, Donovan m'man. I'd heard so much crap on the street I thought you must have bought it by now. The prince is pissed, he has half the damn Camarilla out scouring the streets for whoever killed Samantha."

"And they still think it was me, right?"

"Right...but, I may have the evidence to change that. What say we meet at the usual spot, okay?"

"Okay...uh, Tony?"

"Yeah?"

"What is the usual spot?" 


	3. Chapter 5

Fragments: A Tale of Detroit 

I hate my clan. They are weak and stupid. I hate the other clans. They judge without knowledge. I hate myself. A being superior yet without purpose. Purpose you say? Purpose is a goal, a quest, a reason for being. All beings need a reason for being. A being as in a person. A being as in existence. I know what happens to those without this reason of being. They shrivel up, they rot away. Dust and ash is all that is left. Immortality requires discipline. Mental discipline. Your mind is what will kill you. Boredom to an immortal is a reason for death. Death comes to those without a purpose, thus you must always have a purpose, lest you be dead. I am not dead.

My clan is a clan of fools and losers. They are all wrong in the head. Some are quite normal, believing themselves to be gods or demons. Some are quite mad, fearing the color purple. Some believe the world is out to get them, some have more then one voice in their head. But all that is foolishness. There is one voice, you listen to it and know you are not a god or demon. Cleanliness is not a worthwhile obsession, purple will not kill you. Obsessive compulsivness is foolishness and my clan is foolish. The other clans are foolish too, they think the madness is simple or bizarre. To be controlled or to be destroyed. Have they never considered the third type of Malkavian? 

* * *

I'm driving my car down the street. I'm in a lousy neighborhood full of boarded up windows and busted street lamps. My arm is sore. I pull over and try to get my bearings. There's a note stuck on the wheel.

'You went out to feed'

The note is still in one piece, that means I haven't fed yet. It's important to keep a system like that going. Just in case I get too zipped around in any one period. After all, what would happen if I just kept trying to do some task like ordering something through the mail. It would be an annoying day when twenty copies of Kafka's The Metamorphosis show up on your doorstep! I know I sound a little pissed...but it was very irritating when that happened. But now I have a system, I tear up the unimportant notes. I'm back in my usual black slacks, black turtleneck sweater, and leather jacket outfit. I dig out my notes to see where I am. 

'You have a room reserved at the Marriott Royale on East Timberlake St. Rent has been paid for until the first of March 2001'

'Her name is Samantha, you think you love her'

'Keep an eye out for Tony, he owes you a big favor 213-473-1982 Beware his lies'

'Help Samantha. She's scared of her sire Decker, why?'

'The revolver killed Samantha and shot you in arm. Phosphorus rounds. Serial number 2648Z.

'Called Tony about gun, only part of his payment, he still owes me'

'Crystal will get you a meeting with Decker 213-921-7392'

'Crystal will help against Decker and others, she seeks to control you. Tony says don't trust her'

'Watch for the prince's agents'

I glance over at a nearby pay phone, guess I can hold off on feeding for a while. I hop out and walk over. I drop a few quarters into it and dial Crystal. 

"Hello?"

"Is this Crystal?"

"Who is this," her voice is sharp and over enunciated. Obviously she's spent way too much time trying to perfect her image as a noblewoman. I am almost certain she's a Ventrue. Either it's a guess or I might already know it. But in any case it seems to fit with what I remember, or shall remember, about her.

"It's Donovan."

"Why the hell are you calling me?"

"About that meeting with Decker..."

"What the hell is your problem," her voice is getting angry, losing some of it's civil touch. "We just made that deal twenty minutes ago. I asked for at least two hours!"

"I'm sorry, did I happen to tell you about my condition?"

"Yes you told me, but I thought you'd at least remember things for a few hours!"

"I might have, sometimes I can go through whole nights without..."

"Never mind, just call me back in about two hours. Oh, and Christopher? You do remember that you'll have another bit of business to take care of, right? You do have that feeling?" 

Her voice is syrupy sweet now. My hand slips into my pocket and ruffles through my notes. 'she seeks to control you' I try to keep from laughing. Doesn't she know? I'm the rubber band man.

"Sure I remember, just make sure I get the chance, set up that meeting."

"Okay Christopher, you take care, don't let them get you."

She hangs up before I can ask who is going to get me. But then I figure if it was important I would have left myself a note. I hang up the phone. What had she asked me to do? Had I done it already? Guess I'd find out when I showed up in the future. But that was neither here nor there, though it would be soon enough. As it was it looked like all I needed to worry about now was getting some food. I turn around and walk towards my car, thing is there's a guy standing there. A young man with strong facial features, he's dressed all in black and with a black trench coat. He scowls at me as I approach.

"Don't try anything stupid. My name is Michael, come quietly."

"Do I know you?"

"No, but you know why I'm here. I work with the sheriff, now come along quietly."

"Of course," I mutter as I pull out my notes. 'Watch for the prince's agents' I glance back up at Michael, he must be here for that...but what does it mean? "Um...would you mind reminding me why I have to meet you, I have this condition..." A small tingle of warning creeps down my spine...something I should remember.

"You have broken the Sixth Tradition, and now you shall face the prince's justice."

Oh shit. Of course! I really, really, really hate it when I manage to leave myself incomplete notes. The Sixth Tradition is the right of destruction, means they think I went and killed a fellow Kindred. It also means that if I go with this guy I'm going to be dusting a sunrise by morning. Thus I do what any normal and sane person would do. I run! He shouts and starts after me. I rush down the first alley I come to. There's a fence barricading the end, I quickly scramble up and over it, my injured arm sending jabbing pains of protest lancing through my nerves. I spare a glance back as I keep running. Michael easily leaps the fence and comes right after me. I race down the street along the river, he charges after. There's a snap, and I'm gone. 

* * *

Prologue: Memories Wished Forgotten 

* * *

There's a snap, and he's gone. I have been expecting this point. It's the perfect time to start my next plan. It's mostly mine, the time that is, though the plan is too. He might have a few glimpses, but it won't matter. I'll have a good two hours of pretty solid control till he's back...or forward. He might be forward. Even I can't know everything. I'm a god, that doesn't make me omniscient. I've been in a club, I just left a meeting of the clan. I think I shall kill Decker. The old fool is dangerous for a moron, harmless for a wise man. He's a sorcerer, or so he says. Sorcerer you say? Conjurer, wizard, mage, illusionist. Perhaps he is, we all have madness' of varying sorts. I glance at my notes.

'You have a room reserved at the Marriott Royale on East Timberlake St. Rent has been paid for until the first of March 2001'

'Keep an eye out for Tony, he owes you a big favor 213-473-1982. Careful, he might lie about it'

'Tony wants to meet at the Daze club at nine'

'You've met a girl named Samantha. She's nice. Treat her right'

'Met Crystal, Ventrue. She'll be trouble, wants to use you. Hates Decker. 213-921-7392'

I look around. I'm sitting at the club still. There's a young woman seated next to me happily watching the dance floor. She feels my eyes on her and glances over. Her face lights up as she smiles at me. I can see why he likes her...or is it, I can see why I like her? Oh well, six of one, half a dozen of another. Her pretty dark eyes look at me and narrow slightly. She cocks her head to the side.

"You did it again, didn't you?"

"No Samantha, I'm fine." She shrugs in apology. I was right about who she was. I grab her arm as I stand. "Come on, we should get going."

"What about the friend you said you were going to meet?"

"I decided I don't like him very much." 

* * *

I'm in a hotel room. I'm sitting on a chair looking at the bed. There's a dead girl on it, a blackened hole in her chest. My arm hurts. It takes me a moment to realize I've already been here before. That I've already felt this way before. I've already done all of this before! What's going on? It can't be the same time. As strange as my life is I still only get to experience everything once. This is wrong. Why am I back here? Or still here? Where was I last? Why did I leave the club? Why was Samantha human still? She was, I could remember the smell of her blood. Why could I remember that? I glance down at my hands, I'm holding my notes.

'You have a room reserved at the Marriott Royale on East Timberlake St. Rent has been paid for until the first of March 2001'

'Her name is Samantha, you think you love her'

'Keep an eye out for Tony, he owes you a big favor 213-473-1982 Beware his lies'

'Help Samantha. She's scared of her sire Decker, why?'

'The revolver killed Samantha and shot you in arm. Phosphorus rounds. Serial number 2648Z.'

Ah, I haven't gotten very far yet, but I'm not back at the beginning. I'm just getting confused. The note about Tony is on the top, I must have been thinking about calling him. Yeah, he's got all sorts of good leads out on the streets. If I needed something found out he'd be the man to call. Yes, I remember. He got me the information about Decker, I need to call in order to get him to get it for me later. I look at the serial number of the gun, yes, I'll get Tony to find it for me. I pick up and dial the phone. It rings just once before it's picked up. The voice on the other end sounds pissed.

"Yeah what?"

"Hello Tony, this is Donovan."

"Fuck you man."

"What's wrong?"

"Kiss my ass. You're damn lucky you're a Malk and I can understand you being a little prick. You're damn lucky I'm an understanding man, because otherwise I'd be whooping your ass right about now!"

"Uh..."

"Don't fucking hang up on me again, now piss off."

He slams down the phone. I curse. Curse you say? The verbal utterance not the magical hex. I really hate it when I go and do things more then once. Especially when I obviously did it just moments ago. I quickly stand up and leave the room, that way I won't get confused again. The hallway is quiet and empty. My feet move silently over the lush carpets. Samantha, I need to get revenge for dear Samantha. I step into the elevator and hit the button for the lobby. The speakers are playing a Bing Crosby song. 

But I knew Samantha when she was human. When did she become a vampire? When had I written all the warnings about Tony? What about that meeting with him? The doors open into the lobby and I step out. I make sure to keep my injured arm in tight and put the hand into my jacket pocket. Now would be a very inconvenient time for some human to spot the fact that I have a bullet hole in me and am bleeding slightly.

"Excuse me, but you're Christopher Donovan right?"

I look up as Crystal saunters across the lobby towards me. The helpless human cattle all surreptitiously glance up to watch her pass. Her pace is simple and graceful, the proper walk of a noblewoman and living statue of a goddess. She smiles slightly at me. If I was not the rubber band man I would take it as a smile of someone who cares. However I have known what she is about now and I know what she is going to do.

"Hello Crystal, I don't think so."

I keep walking and brush past her. She frowns and comes after me. I of course, deep within myself, know how pointless this is. I have already been here and already spoken to her and I will need to speak with her now. The knowing doesn't help. I can't prevent what's destined to happen. Her hand slips into the crook of my wounded arm and tugs. There is a stab of pain and I am forced to stop. I can't get away, I'll have to talk to her, and put up with the mess she'll get me into. 

"I should warn you Crystal. It won't work, I'm going to go hurt you soon."

"I'm sure you are Christopher. Let me guess, you already know what I'm going to do?" She laughs. Why? Doesn't she know I'm the rubber band man? Doesn't she realize the danger? I tried to warn her. "But I think it will all work out for me. After all, you're going to be on my side, or are already on my side. However that works for you."

I don't know what she means by that. But I will. And she'll get what's coming to her. Of that I swear. Swear you say? Promise, avow, pledge. She will regret playing a game with the rubber band man. There's a snap, and I'm gone. 

* * *

I'm standing in some condo somewhere. My arm hurts. I look around in confusion, it looks like the place has been ripped to hell. Books lay strewn off of shelves. Closet doors hang open. Drawers have been pulled from cabinets and their contents dumped upon the floor. What am I doing here? I look down at myself, I'm wearing a powdered blue lounge lizard suit with a big stain on the front and a yellow tie. I hate yellow. There's a dead man in front of me. His eyes are nothing but two bloody sockets, his throat has been torn open. I look down at the note in my bloodstained hand. 

'Decker is going to kill Crystal, you need to help her and deal with his ghouls'

There's a thump from another room and the sounds of someone coming this way. I quickly slip up to the wall behind the door. The shadows serve to hide me from view as I wait quietly. Someone walks into the room, a young man with spiked bleached blonde hair. He looks around curiously. In his hand is a magnum. I leap out from behind the door and slam into him from behind. We crash to the ground, one of my hands grabs the wrist of his gun hand. My other hand grabs his hair and uses it to smash his face onto the floor repeatedly. He bellows in anger and shock. He's stronger then he looks and stands back up, his free hand reaching around to grab a hold of me.

"Jesus Donovan, what's the big deal?" I pause in shock and he manages to untangle himself from me. He rubs at his broken nose as he glares at me. "Damn man, why can't you do more then predict when you're about to do something stupid? Couldn't you at least stop jumping me every time I turn around?"

"I know you don't I?"

"Yeah, yeah you know me. I'm Tony, I agreed to help you out, remember?"

"I think I might."

"Of course you don't," he sighs as he slips his gun under his leather jacket. He raises his hand to cut me off even as I start to speak. "Yeah man, yeah, I know you got a condition, okay. So what did you find? We were trying to figure out where Decker went to."

"He's going to go kill Crystal."

"Hah, couldn't have happened to a nicer Ventrue. So what's the chance we just write her off and blow this damn town?"

"No," I hold up the note, "I don't know why but I have to go. We have to be there on the tower."

"Great. I try to tell him, but will he ever listen to me? No, nobody ever listens to crazy ol' Tony!" 

I ignore his complaints. Obviously I learned something important about Decker and now he's trying to get to me. Apparently he figured that this Crystal was involved too. Yes, he's going to kill her. I remember that. As Tony starts to heal his nose I pull out my notes. Some have gotten wet and are hard or impossible to read in places.

'Her name is Samantha, you think you love her'

'Keep an eye out for Tony, he owes you a big favor 213-473-1982 Beware his lies'

'Help Samantha. She's scared of her sire Decker, why?'

'The revolver killed Samantha and shot you in arm. Phosphorus rounds. Serial number 2648Z.'

'Called Tony about gun, ....... owes me'

'Crystal will get you a meeting with Decker 213-921-7392'

'Crystal will help against Decker and others, she seeks.......trust her'

'Watch for the ...'s agents'

'Decker denies Samantha. Hates Crystal, might try to hurt her. He tried to kill you.'

'Decker owned the gun, he killed Samantha. Kill him'

'Tony is up to something, I think he plans on killing you'

Crystal, poor girl, what have I gotten you into? Obviously she was insane enough to try to help me out, and now it may get her killed. What did she mean I was on her side? She was screwing with me, trying to control me. I read the notes about Tony and glance up at him. He's quietly waiting for me, he looks calm and has put his gun away. He doesn't act like someone trying to kill me. But if I wrote a note about it then I should have had a good reason. But I didn't, I was wrong. But I can't change that, Tony has to come because he was already there. I glance at the first Tony note, something tells me to flip it over.

'Will have to be removed when no longer useful'

I motion to Tony and we leave the condo. My car is waiting out front and we hop into it. Somebody's gone and torn up the roof. I frown at the damage as I start driving. When the hell did that happen? Tony tells me where Crystal hangs out. She has offices in the top story of a large office complex. The sixty story building sits smack in the middle of downtown. The roads are subdued in the lull between late night drivers and the early morning starters. It's almost quiet as we climb out of my car. A burst of cold wind suddenly brings with it a flurry of snow. The white flakes rain down around us in silent droves as we walk up to the front entrance.

We walk into the lobby. The stuffy and unnatural warmth of a heating system flows around us. The stagnant heat bringing with it the fetid smell of death. Behind the main desk is a security guard, he's been shot twice in the chest. Messy work, obviously Decker's nervous and antsy. Tony presses the elevator call button. We wait quietly as it comes down to us. It was up on the thirtieth floor. The other one is at the sixtieth. The elevator arrives and we get in. Tony pulls out his gun and nervously checks it. I keep a careful eye on him, the words of my note flaring through my thoughts. 'Don't trust him...Will have to be removed' He glances up at me, his eyes look at mine.

"Yo, Donovan, you still with me man?"

There's a snap, and I'm gone. 


	4. Segment 4

Fragments: A Tale of Detroit 

I am the third type of Malkavian. I am not mad, I am normal. I am normal and thus am mad. Mad as in insane to the first, mad as in angry to the second. They thought I would be crazy and sought to control me because of it. The others of my clan, sire and broodmates, thought they could bend me to their will and understanding. But I am the rubber band man, I stretch and move and bounce around. They try to grab on, but are cast aside. Our clan works through the powers of mental trickery. My mind is an iron fortress to any such power, a moving target, a rubber band castle that moves too quickly to be hit. That moves too erratically to be targeted.

I am the rubber band man, and I am normal and safe from the curse of my clan. Thus I am free to see the world as no other can. I look through the sheet of insanity with the wisdom of normality. I know that purpose is what is needed to maintain our life. Purpose against death. Immortality's boredom defeated. I alone can deal with this fact. I alone am the rubber band man with the brain that shall never stop. I alone shall last until the end times. When all else is dust I shall be there to watch the end of the universe as it collapses in on itself. Then I can recreate the world into a new vista of truth and knowledge. I shall be god on this new universe. But I am not mad, I know I am not god yet. But the time will come. 

* * *

Chapter Two: Coffee and Confessions 

* * *

I'm sitting in a diner. Sickly fluorescent light washes across me as I stare down at the table. My notes are in a small pile next to my hand. A hand that clutches a blank note. My other hand holds a pen, ready to write. My arm hurts. A blank note, I hate this sort of thing. Something tells me that whatever I was about to write down was important.

"So are you going to write this down or what?"

I look up, I'm not alone. A woman sits across from me. Her face is that of a statue, carved by the hands of a master. A steel gray evening gown hugs her graceful body. A soft shawl of pale ivory is wrapped loosely about her bare shoulders. Her flashing crystalline eyes watch me as her glistening lips curve slightly upwards into a smile. A steaming mug of coffee is in her hand. She holds it close to her pale face, allowing the heated vapors to add color to cheeks. She arcs one perfect eyebrow when she notes I'm not moving.

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

"I said I could get you that meeting with Decker, do you want it or not?"

A meeting with Decker? Who is she, what's going on? I glance over my notes quickly as I try to catch up. Or back...sometimes I have to catch back.

'You have a room reserved at the Marriott Royale on East Timberlake St. Rent has been paid for until the first of March 2001'

'Her name is Samantha, you think you love her'

'Keep an eye out for Tony, he owes you a big favor 213-473-1982 Beware his lies'

'Help Samantha. She's scared of her sire Decker, why?'

'The revolver killed Samantha and shot you in arm. Phosphorus rounds. Serial number 2648Z.

'Called Tony about gun, only part of his payment, he still owes me'

Damn...I can't believe I didn't leave myself a note. I know this isn't Samantha, she's dead. But she does seem to know me, and know what I'm doing here. The rest of you have no idea what that feels like. Having to ask others what you're doing. It tears apart that which is the only truth that anybody ever seems to hold. Their free will. Such is the price of the rubber band man. I glance back up at her.

"I'm sorry, did I mention I have a condition?" 

Her eyes flicker slightly, then she smiles. She tells me I haven't mentioned any condition. So I explain it to her quickly. She smiles as I do so, as though she's laughing at me. I glance back down at the blank piece of paper in my hand.

"So what was I going to write down?"

"Probably something about the meeting. You asked if I could arrange a face to face between you and Decker. I told you it was possible, for a price."

"And you are?"

"My name's Crystal. I want to help you out. Don't you remember me telling you about Decker?"

I don't of course. But I write down her number and the information. They seem familiar. Deja vu', story of my life. She smiles at me as she sets down her coffee. Her gaze locks with mine. Her bright, gemstone eyes glimmer. I feel my world fade away till all I can see are those two gleaming points.

"Now listen to me carefully Christopher. I will take you to see Decker. I know you want to kill him, but I need more then that. I need you to kill him, and then let me kill you. You'll let me kill you, right? After all, what else will there be for you to live for? Now repeat after me. After I kill Decker, I will let Crystal kill me."

"After I kill Decker, I will let Crystal kill me."

"Good, now forget that I ever..."

There's a snap, and I'm gone. 

* * *

"Do it! What are you waiting for?"

I'm standing on a rooftop. Snow billows and gusts around me on the stiff cold breeze. My arm is sore. Nearby Tony lies in the snow. His back ripped open, a look of betrayal on his face. Crystal stands nearby, a smoking magnum held in her hand. Her statue-like features twisted into an eager smirk. Her cool, crystal eyes flashing with the glint of bloodlust. I hear a moan and look down. Decker lies upon the snowy roof. A bloody hole has been blown in his chest, I can see it slowly closing up. A few drops of Tony's blood drip off my claws to spatter onto Decker's pale face. I glance over at his body again. I'm sorry my friend, I didn't know...I made a mistake somehow.

"Hurry up Christopher, this is it. It's your chance! What's wrong?"

I glance up at her, I knew this chance would come. I can see her plan in her ready stance, in her eager eyes. She holds the gun ready, she plans to kill me once Decker is done. That way when the prince investigates she'll be a hero, and I'll be vilified. Vilified you say? Maligned, slandered, judged, demeaned. I would take the fall, she would be the brave vanquisher of the mad Malkavian. Perhaps I deserve that...but, I only intend to pay for my crimes, not hers. I glance up at her, my mouth splitting open into a wide grin. My teeth flashing in the darkness. My brown hair dancing about my head in the breeze. My eyes glinting with a slight feral gleam. Far beneath us I can hear the sirens of the police cars on the streets below. 

"Didn't I tell you Crystal? I have a condition."

"Yes Christopher, you told me," she says with a sigh. "I understand, just look around, it's simple. Now, there's Decker, don't you want to kill him for Samantha? Isn't this what all this madness was about?"

"I said I had a condition. I never said I was mad."

I turn towards her, my claws glinting with Tony's blood. She takes a few steps back. Her beautiful features twisting slightly in fear and confusion. Her face is even more alluring now. Like it was carved by a master. She brushes a few loose strands of hair away from her face, she smiles slightly.

"Of course. I know you're not mad. I also know you need to kill Decker. Can't you feel it?"

"Oh, what do you really know about me Crystal. If you knew about me you wouldn't have bothered to mess with my mind." I grin at her as I start to walk forward. Her lips start to tremble, she silently mouths the words 'stay back'. I do not. My arm shoots forward in a sudden lunge. Clawed fingers slamming hard into her perfectly formed chest. Her thin gray dress shredding apart as pointed talons rip into the soft flesh beneath. "Didn't I tell you Crystal!?! Didn't I try to warn you! I'm the rubber band man!!!"

I tear my arm from her chest. Her body collapses softly to the roof as I look at my prize. The blood still drips off her heart, the organ feebly twitching in the cold, snow filled air. I look down at her and laugh, she's beautiful even in death. A face molded to perfection. A death mask of the gods. I turn and hurl her heart over the edge of the roof. It arcs through the air, trailing behind it a thin spray of crimson droplets. I turn around as I hear Decker start to rise. He looks at me in fear. Obviously wondering what will come next.

So do I.

There's a snap, and I'm gone. 

* * *

"So this is Decker's place huh? I sorta expected more."

I'm sitting in my car. It's been banged up. The side-view mirror is missing. The leather top has been shredded apart. I pause for a little bit just eyeing the damage in annoyance. My arm hurts. Seated next to me is Tony. He peers out the window at the condo we just parked in front of. The dashboard in front of him is coated in sticky, semi-dried blood. I guess we must be at Decker's place. I quickly go to pull out my notes. I'm not wearing my jacket and sweater. I'm in a powdered blue lounge lizard suite. A ugly yellow tie is wrapped around my throat. I hate yellow.

'Her name is Samantha, you think you love her'

'Keep an eye out for Tony, he owes you a big favor 213-473-1982 Beware his lies'

'Help Samantha. She's scared of her sire Decker, why?'

'The revolver killed Samantha and shot you in arm. Phosphorus rounds. Serial number 2648Z.'

'Called Tony about gun, ....... owes me'

'Crystal will get you a meeting with Decker 213-921-7392'

'Crystal will help against Decker and others, she seeks.......trust her'

'Watch for the ...'s agents'

'Decker denies Samantha. Hates Crystal, might try to hurt her. He tried to kill you.'

'Decker owned the gun, he killed Samantha. Kill him'

'Tony is up to something, I think he plans on killing you'

I climb out of the car, so does Tony. We must have gone to Decker's to deal with the bastard. The lights all seem to be out, like nobody is home. I motion to Tony and we start circling around through the yard towards the back of the place. I realize now how silly it'd be not to trust him at least now. I know he'll be dead later. I hop over the railing of the back porch and eye the sliding glass doors curiously.

"Hey Tony, can you open these quietly?"

"No."

"Well then how..."

Tony raises his hand and punches through the glass. The pane shatters and collapses noisily to the ground. I glare at him, but Tony just grins and winks at me.

"Okay, let's split up and see if we can figure out where Decker is."

Tony nods and quickly rushes up the stairs. I slip past the kitchen and into a large study. Books and papers abound...I start going through them. It's as I'm searching the desk that I get the odd tingle near the back of my neck. A tingle that has never lead me wrong. I quickly allow the shadows of the room to hide me from view. I stand motionless and watch the door. A few instants later it creaks slowly open. A dark complexioned man with an eye-patch slips through the crack warily. He looks around at the mess I've made. A silver handled magnum is clutched in his hand. His one good eye peers intently at the darkness as he walks into the room.

My claws suddenly rip into his wrist. He howls in pain as I slam into him and knock him to the ground. We collapse to the floor, papers swishing about us as we struggle. I end up straddling his chest, I sink my claws into his shoulder to immobilize his other arm. I grab his face and stare into his eye. He looks back at me in startled fear as I reach into his brain and rummage about as easily as I did the desk. I grin as I press one of my claws against his eye-patch and push. He cries out in pain as the claw tears into flesh.

"Decker went somewhere with his last guard. Where did they go?"

He doesn't say anything. I lift my other hand and lower the gleaming tip of my thumb towards his good eye. He whimpers in fear but says nothing. I snarl at him as I plunge the claw deep into the socket.

"Crystal! He went to go kill Crystal!"

I nod as I quickly tear open his throat. Of course, the tower, the final act was at the tower. I should have remembered that much. I pull out my pen and a note and jot down the information. Now I need to go to the tower. I'll mess up, but at least I'll get Decker in the end. There's a snap, and I'm gone. 

* * *

There's a snap and he's gone. I smirk over at Samantha as I pick up the phone and dial again. She's watching me curiously now. Her wide eyes full of unease. How strange of it for her to think I'm acting strangely. I'm not acting strangely. There is no act to it. I am strange. But it is thinking strangely I suppose she should accuse me of. The phone finally stops ringing as he picks up.

"Hey, this is Tony."

"Tony, this is Donovan here. I'm at my room, do you know where that is?"

"Sure man. Hey, what the hell was up with your disappearing act. Did you lose your note or something? I sat around for a whole fucking hour and-"

"Tony, you better shut it or I'll rip your damn tongue out." He grows quiet, surprised to hear me speak so. Samantha is quiet now too. She sits on the bed and picks up a pillow to hug tightly. I'd worry, but she's too young to think about running. "Listen carefully Tony. I need you to come over here quickly. This will be a big step off your debt. Get over here, and bring a revolver."

"Uh...okay."

"And Tony...load it with phosphorous."

I hang up the phone and turn to smile at Samantha. Yes, it is almost ready now. But I still have a bit of time to spend with my 'love'. We really should get acquainted. 

* * *

Chapter Three: Meeting Answers, Without Questions 

* * *

I seem to be in another dimension. Black cold liquid pushes in around me. My vision swirls and blurs in the inky darkness. My arm hurts, so do my ribs. It takes a few moments to feel the sensation of movement. The blackness seems to be pulling me along in its current. Current you say? Stream, pull, drift, flow. Water! I'm underwater! With that realization comes action. I twist and start swimming upwards. My head breaks the rushing surface of the river. How the hell did I end up here?

I turn and clumsily swim over to the Detroit shore. My jacket squeaks and leaks water as I pull myself up the rocky embankment. I struggle up the climb, dirt cakes my hands and knees. I finally reach the guardrail and pull myself over it. I sit there on the sidewalk and just try to collect myself. I'm soaked and muddy. It feels like I have some broken ribs. I've been shot twice in the back. My arm really hurts. I quickly fish into my pocket for my notes. Some of them have been damaged by the dunk in the river and are hard to read in places.

'Her name is Samantha, you think you love her'

'Keep an eye out for Tony, he owes you a big favor 213-473-1982 Beware his lies'

'Help Samantha. She's scared of her sire Decker, why?'

'The revolver killed Samantha and shot you in arm. Phosphorus rounds. Serial number 2648Z.'

'Called Tony about gun, ....... owes me'

'Crystal will get you a meeting with Decker 213-921-7392'

'Crystal will help against Decker and others, she seeks.......trust her'

'Watch for the ...'s agents'

I need to feed. I stagger up and wander into the nearest alley I can find. I wander about for a bit until I spot a huddled figure sitting by a dumpster. I jump on the old woman, she screams and bats at me. But my need is too strong, as am I. I take more then I probably should have, she looks very pale when I'm done. But this is for Samantha, and I have to get what I need to avenge her. I use the fresh blood to heal up my ribs and close the holes in my back. I find a pay phone next. I have just one quarter and a folded twenty dollar bill in my pocket. After a bit of consideration I decide to call Crystal...after all, she needs to tell me about the meeting.

"Hello?"

"Crystal, this is Donovan."

"Oh good, I was expecting your call." Her voice is rich and cultured. The voice of a woman of class and power. "Listen, you may want to write this down." I pull out my notes and wait. "Decker has a condo out on Lacainam drive. The house with a green door. He'll be there for at least the next three hours."

"What time is it now?"

"What?"

"I did tell you about my condition, didn't I?"

"Oh...right. The time is eleven forty, so he'll be there till around one in the morning. Don't mention my name, and remember the deal. You can come find me at my office afterwards. Sixtieth floor of the Telecine building. Okay?"

She hangs up before I can say anything about the deal. I wonder if she would have wanted to know that deal will be her last? Oh well, I have the information about Decker. I grin as I tuck the note into my pocket and clench my hands. I'm going to go down there and kill him real painful like. Now, if only I can remember where I put my car. There's a snap, and I'm gone. 

* * *

I'm in a hotel room. I'm standing by the door looking over my shoulder at the bed. There's a dead girl on it, a blackened hole in her chest. Samantha, my love. My arm hurts. I glance down and look at the note in my hand.

'The revolver killed Samantha and shot you in arm. Phosphorus rounds. Serial number 2648Z.'

Revolver? I feel a weight in my pocket and slip my hand into it. There, laying on top of my notes, is a revolver. I pull it out and look at it. Two chambers are empty, two shots. One for my arm, one for Samantha. I pull out my notes and glance them over.

'You have a room reserved at the Marriott Royale on East Timberlake St. Rent has been paid for until the first of March 2001'

'Her name is Samantha, you think you love her'

'Keep an eye out for Tony, he owes you a big favor 213-473-1982 Beware his lies'

'Help Samantha. She's scared of her sire Decker, why?'

I need to trace the gun and Tony owes me a favor. I seem to recall that he's a good man when it comes to digging up dirt. He's even big into the illegal gun racket. Just the sort of man I'll need. There's a phone in the room. I haven't written any notes about the murder being known so I guess there's no rush. I walk over and sit down in the chair next to the phone. I start to dial the number. As I do my memories seem to come flooding back. Memories I think I would have wished forgotten.

What happened? I had called Tony and asked him over. He was bringing the revolver. Why? Why had I asked for it? What had happened? Then it seems to hit me like a small nuclear explosion inside my skull. My other thoughts are obliterated as I consider this one final thought. I look into the wastebasket at the smoking notes. Notes destroyed...who would have done that? Someone who knew how I worked. Someone like Tony.

It was his gun. But he must have tried to cover it up. I pull out the revolver and look at it. Yes, Tony knew all about guns and illegal weapons. It was his gun, not Decker's. It would have been so easy to cover up when I asked him to help me trace it. It was Tony, he had killed her. He had destroyed notes and left false ones to fool me. That was it! I reach into my pockets again and pull back out my notes. I grab my pen out. I figured it all out, now I need to make sure that I'll remember it then so I can have my revenge.

'Will have to be removed when no longer useful'

I look at the scrawled message with a small smile. That will do it. That will make me suspicious. That will make me write all the other notes. That will make sure I get Tony like I remember I will. I walk over and smile at Samantha. I gently clasp her hand and kiss her soft, full lips. I got him for you. I thought it was a mistake but it was so right. I got him for you Samantha, I made him pay. I kiss her lips again, a small trickle of blood leaks down my face. I shake my head as I look at my notes. I haven't called Tony yet, I still need to do it. I quickly grab the phone and dial again.

"This is Tony, what's happening?"

"It's Donovan, you remember that favor you owe me?"

"Donovan! Hey man, how's it hanging. Look, about that favor, I already paid you back."

His voice holds the slight lilt of the unsure. I glance down at the note in my hand. 'Beware his lies'. He obviously thinks he can still be screwing with me. How he must be laughing over how he's killed my love and now I'm treating him like a friend. I hate it when people try to take advantage of it. They think that just because I'm a normal Malkavian who gets a little lost in time they can have the time of day playing with me. Time literally to the first, time figuratively to the second. But Tony won't have time much longer. Literally or figuratively. I slip the notes back into my pocket.

"Listen you Brujah piece of crap, I've had just about enough of you trying to screw with me."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"You'll figure it out, later. Just go and find out about a revolver, serial number 2648Z. It'll be Decker's but I need the proof of it."

"Uh, if you know that..."

"I did explain my condition to you didn't I?"

"Well yeah."

"Then you should know why I need you to find the information and give it to me later. Oh, and Tony, watch yourself around the goddamn coffee cup."

"What are you..."

I hang up on him, I already know he'll get what I need. I just wish he'd somehow remember about the coffee. Bastard. Now, if I remember right, I need to go and see about getting the meeting with Decker. There's a snap, and I'm gone. 

* * *

I'm in the lobby of a hotel. I bet it's my hotel. I seem to be facing the exit, so I'm probably on my way out. My arm is sore and throbbing. It looks like everyone is looking at me. I grow tense, worried what may have happened. But then I realize they aren't. They're looking slightly off to my side. Looking at the woman who is tugging painfully on my aching arm as she walks towards the exit.

"I can understand you wanting to hurry up, we should get out of here. But why so rude?"

I glance up at the woman who just spoke to me. She's wearing an elegant evening gown of steel gray. A simple ivory shawl is draped across her bare shoulders and around her slender arms. Her eyes are flashing bits of bright gleaming hardness. Her face is calm and perfect, it looks to have been carved from marble in a day now long gone. An ancient and timeless beauty in a classical and eternally stylish dress. Her thin lips are glossed with a colorless lipstick. She smiles slightly, her face barely seeming to crease or change from the motion. It looks like a smile of friendly concern and care.

"I'm sorry, do I know you? I have this condition..."

"But you knew my name."

"Then I haven't told you?"

"Told me what?"

It's impressive but she somehow manages to pull off looking surprised while still maintaining her perfect statuesque austerity. The people are looking at us, my arm hurts, she seems to think I should know her. I feel the one thing that has ever caused me panic or fear. A feeling of ignorance about the current situation. To anyone who has never lived my life it might seem strange. But though gunplay, knives, fire, damnation, staking, decapitation, spiders, darkness, and any of a dozen other things give me no concern whatsoever ignorance of a situation will. It's the feeling that I should know something and don't. It's especially problematic because with her hanging off me I can't get to my notes.

"Well, I have this condition," I attempt to start telling her while trying to work my arm free. But her gleaming eyes flick over the crowded lobby. Her fingers tighten across my arm. It hurts.

"We shouldn't stay here, they'll be on their way by now."

"Who will?"

"The prince's agents. Steven does look poorly upon anyone killing a fellow Kindred within his city. I suspect you could be in very big trouble very soon." She keeps pulling me towards the door. We step through the revolving entryway and out into the brisk chill of the night air. She drags me towards the nearby parking lot. Though she acts worried her features remain calm and flawless. A chill breeze hisses across us, tossing the edges of her wrap and dress around her. Her brown hair remains firmly and perfectly within the elegant bun atop her head. I look up at the serene night sky and the twinkling stars above.

"It's going to snow tonight."

"How do you know that?"

"I just do."

"Well do you just happen to know a good spot to hide out for a while?" I shrug, she sighs and motions me to get into my car. How did she know which car was mine? I must know her somehow, but I can't seem to recall. "Well it doesn't matter," she mutters as she climbs in next to me. "I know a nice little diner they won't check. Let's go."

I start driving. I spare one last look into the rearview mirror as the hotel fades away behind me. I can't help but get the feeling I'm forgetting something important there. I don't know what. She leans back in her seat and watches me quietly. Her only action for the next few minutes is to give me the occasional pointed direction. She also glances at her watch on a regular basis. I don't like it when people go so quiet on me, it makes them harder to remember. Maybe that's why I can't remember her. We pull up in front of an old fashioned roadside diner on the outskirts of town. It's not the sort of place she belongs. The staff and customers all eye her curiously as we sit down in a secluded corner table. She orders two coffees and then glances at her watch again.

"It's almost time, and I must say I've done a good job."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I made the calls you wanted and got you to come with me like you asked." She smiles, her eyes remaining little cold flashes in her carved face. "Plus I didn't let you write down anything yet, just like you said."

"Like I said?"

My hand darts into my pocket and grabs my notes. Something is not right here. Something very strange is going on. Who is she and what's she talking about? I pull out my notes and pen. She was checking the time, almost like she knew how long I'd manage to last on this jump. What's she up to, who's she working with? I slap down a blank note and start to write, I need a warning. I need to remember to watch out for whoever she's working for. There's a snap, and I'm gone.


	5. The Last and First Bit

Fragments: A Tale of Detroit 

All times have a meaning and a purpose. But not all purposes have a time. I know this better then any, for I am the rubber band man. Time is a logical progression, but logic progress differently dependent upon perception. Perception is not a logical progression, it is a choice of what you pay attention to. You walk into a room, you notice first the ceiling fan, then the ceiling. Just because you notice the fan first does not remove the need of the ceiling. How could there be a fan held up without ceiling? Thus is perception, you notice things in an order. But the order is flawed and pointless. An order for fools and losers.

I know I shall be a god for I have seen it. Not in dreams or visions as might my foolish and pathetic clan. No, I have seen it for I was there. I went there first and learned all that would become of me. That was my gift and greatness. I shall be a god, it is inevitable. But I must last till that point, that is why I have become the rubber band man. I need to stay elastic, stay fresh, stay sudden. I cannot allow myself to even once consider something boring. I cannot allow myself to even once fall into a rut of repetition. I must last through my immortality in order to become the god that I may alert myself of what I must do. 

* * *

I'm walking along the river. My eyes are turned away from it, scanning the streets and alleys. I'm wet and muddy. My jacket has been torn up a bit. My arm is sore. I pause, there's a note in my hand, I look at it.

'You lost your car. Last I recall is pulling myself from the river. You're walking north along it in the hopes we can spot it. Good luck!'

Great, I really hate it when I get so flippant with myself. The note is still in one piece, that means I haven't found my car yet. I keep walking along, my eyes scanning the streets. I dig my hand back into my damp jacket and find my other notes.

'Her name is Samantha, you think you love her'

'Keep an eye out for Tony, he owes you a big favor 213-473-1982 Beware his lies'

'Help Samantha. She's scared of her sire Decker, why?'

'The revolver killed Samantha and shot you in arm. Phosphorus rounds. Serial number 2648Z.'

'Called Tony about gun, ....... owes me'

'Crystal will get you a meeting with Decker 213-921-7392'

'Crystal will help against Decker and others, she seeks.......trust her'

'Watch for the ...'s agents'

'Decker will be at his condo on Lacainam drive. The house with a green door. Till one'

So, I need to get my car soon so I can drive out there. I glance down at my ruined clothes and sigh. This is not the right look for a meeting with anyone. Suddenly I hear a couple of hissed voices laughing in the distance. Curious I walk over to a nearby alley and peer through the fence.

"C'mon man," chuckles one, "tear that bitch up!"

I hear a ripping and shredding noise. I can only see one of the men. Some drunk moron dressed up in a bright red and white suit. Even the shoes are red. I can also just see the tail end of a car. My car! It's shaking slightly, I hear the sound of breaking glass. I quickly hop up and scramble over the fence. I jog down the alley and come out onto the street. There's a second man. He's standing on top of my car with a lead pipe. He's smashed off one of my rearview mirrors, and has used the pipe to cut through the vinyl top.

"Woohoo, this is better then clubbing."

"No man, wait, you are clubbing!"

"Whoah, yeah dude, I am!" He spins and brings the lead pipe down on the hood of my car. Shredding the paint and leaving a large dent. I pull the revolver out of my jacket and start walking forward.

"Hey! That's my car!"

The one in red sees me and literally pisses his pants. He screams in terror as he turns and runs for it. The second one tries to leap off my car, but his foot catches on the tattered roof and he goes sprawling onto the pavement. I run up and grab his hair while pressing my gun to his head.

"Why hello there. Tell me, what should I do with you?"

I drive off with my new clothes. It's a gruesome powdered blue lounge lizard suit with a yellow tie. I hate yellow. Still, I needed something clean to wear when I meet Decker. Through the rearview mirror I can see him scuttle away down the street, as naked as a jaybird. I bundle up my old clothes and toss them in the back. I empty out my pockets first though. I make sure to grab my notes and the revolver. I also find a folded up twenty dollar bill. I tuck them all into my new coat as I drive out for Decker's condo. There's a snap, and I'm gone. 

* * *

There's a snap, and he's gone. We're back at the Marriott Royale. Samantha enters the room first. She laughs as she skips up to the window to look out at the city below. I lock the door and slip the key into my pocket. I pull out my notes again as I pick up the phone. I dial the number. It rings a few times before a woman with a cultured voice answers.

"Hello?"

"Hello Crystal, this is Christopher Donovan. Do you remember me?"

"Yes."

"You want to use me don't you. You'd like to get rid of Decker, wouldn't you?"

"You stupid Malkavians are all the same. The whole lot of you don't have the common sense needed to change a light bulb. If you think this backwards plot is actually going to get me to say anything..."

"Shut up. Listen. I've told you about my condition, right?"

"Right."

"Well then, here's what you have to do. Come to the Marriott Royale on East Timberlake St. Wait in the lobby. When I come down come get me. Get me out to my car and have me drive you over to the coffee bar on Rutherford avenue. Keep me there and talking till exactly ten thirty. It's vital you don't let me have spare time to think and that I don't write any notes. At ten thirty I'll reset and you can feed me a line about getting me a meeting with Decker. I'll want it at this point because I'll be trying to kill him. Then leave, and leave a twenty on the table, I'll need the cash. Do you understand?"

"You're offering to kill Decker for me in exchange for twenty dollars?"

"Sort of. By the time you see me again I'll have some personal reasons to kill him."

"Hmmm, we'll see."

She hangs up the phone. Good, it's all going according to plan. 

* * *

I kill my clan. They are a clan of fools and losers. Thus they deserve it. They are the only ones wise enough to realize what I do. Thus they are dangerous. They are the source of my power. Thus my only weakness. Therefore I must send them all to their final death. Final death you say? Demise, decease, expiration, dissolution, death. Death for a vampire comes not easily, final death is that final end. My clan hates me for this, as does the Camarilla. The Camarilla, hated coalition of the clans. They all try to stop me, but they do not realize, my cause is just and good.

But it is not as easy as you might think for me to do. It is true I am normal. It is true I shall be a god. But I am honest, honest and nice and foolish. It is a great burden for a murderer and future god to bear. But I overcome, I outmaneuver and outsmart. I am a fool and a loser. There have been times I have almost caught myself. But I am such a fool and loser I do not think I ever shall. I am the rubber band man and I move too fast for even myself. 

* * *

Chapter Five: Atop the Tower, Judging Blindly 

* * *

I'm in an elevator, pressed up against one wall. Across from me is a man with short bleached blonde hair. He's staring at me, a magnum in his hand. My arm hurts. This is the sort of thing I hate. He has a gun, and I'm in an elevator with him. Has he just pulled it on me and is about to shoot? Is he escorting me to see the prince of the city? Is he just showing me his latest toy? The wrong action in these circumstances can be very bothersome. Yes, bothersome bother some. Why can't people bother some other person. But no, I have to deal with the mess. What would you do? I suddenly spring at him and slam him up against the wall of the elevator.

"What the fuck?"

His voice is familiar, that could be a good thing, or a bad thing. Or a bad thing if a good thing and vice versa. I don't let that thought confuse me as I grab his wrist and twist the gun from his grasp. His hand slams into my chest and knocks me back hard. I smash into the far wall as he stands back up. His eyes are bright and angry, his fists clenched. I raise the gun and point it at him.

"Don't move."

"Donovan, what the hell are you doing?" His voice sounds more annoyed then fearful. I might have made a mistake. "Damnit, you did that mind hopping shit again, didn't you?"

"I know you then? Have I told you about..."

"Your condition. Yeah, I know about the damn condition. Sometimes I swear I hear nothing but about your fucking condition! Look, just check your notes quickly. I'm Tony. We're heading up to Crystal's office and I don't want to take on Decker alone." 

I notice the elevator is climbing. The button for the sixtieth floor is lit. I glance back at Tony and then reach for my notes. My leather jacket is gone. I'm dressed up in some ugly, powdered blue, lounge lizard suit. There's a large brown stain on the front, and I'm wearing a yellow tie. I hate yellow. My notes are in one of the coat pockets. I pull them out and flip through them quickly. Some have gotten wet and are hard or impossible to read in places.

'Her name is Samantha, you think you love her'

'Keep an eye out for Tony, he owes you a big favor 213-473-1982 Beware his lies'

'Help Samantha. She's scared of her sire Decker, why?'

'The revolver killed Samantha and shot you in arm. Phosphorus rounds. Serial number 2648Z.'

'Called Tony about gun, ....... owes me'

'Crystal will get you a meeting with Decker 213-921-7392'

'Crystal will help against Decker and others, she seeks.......trust her'

'Watch for the ...'s agents'

'Decker denies Samantha. Hates Crystal, might try to hurt her. He tried to kill you.'

'Decker owned the gun, he killed Samantha. Kill him'

'Tony is up to something, I think he plans on killing you'

'Decker is going to kill Crystal, you need to help her and deal with his men'

I remember now. I remember things I shouldn't. Oh shit! What the hell is going on? What the hell have I done? I glance up at Tony slowly, he stands there angrily eyeing me. I hold the gun nervously, my eyes dancing about. Tony watches me, looking unsure. There's a loud ring as the elevator comes to a stop. The doors open into a large office. The place is in shambles. Papers are strewn about. A potted plant has been knocked over. Chairs are upended. I glance back at Tony, he holds out his hand expectantly for his gun. I shake my head quickly.

"I don't think so, why don't you just go first. Who the hell are you working for, what were you doing with me? Why? What happened when you brought the gun to me?"

I can't shake the feeling something's not right. I was so sure it was him, but what was I doing with Crystal? I tighten my grip on the gun, I look about wildly. Blood sweat trickles down my face. Tony looks at me worriedly, but I can't trust him. Not now, not ever.

"What the hell are you talking about man?" Tony walks out of the elevator and into the office. I can smell the faint tang of blood on the air. I hear the soft rustling of papers. "Donovan man, what the hell are you thinking. We're pals, remember. You saved my ass back when you first hit town. We went drinking together. I helped you prove that Decker murdered that Samantha of yours. All I've done is try to help you. What the hell's going on?"

"Yes, but you shouldn't have. What was I doing Tony? What were you helping me do?"

I pause and hold my head, what have I done? Tony shifts slightly towards me, I quickly raise the gun and point it back at him.

"Turn around, I don't want to see your face!"

"Fine...what the hell's the problem Donovan? I thought things were going according to your plan."

"That's what I'm beginning to fear."

We approach the desk. Sprawled behind it is a dead man. Decker's last ghoul. Looks like somebody went and pumped a few bullets into him. The gun that was used is laying on the carpet near the desk. A smaller caliber weapon. Probably used by Crystal. She's nasty enough she wouldn't have gone quietly. No sign of anyone else. I hear the rustle again, and this time I feel the slight breeze. The wall behind the desk has a door concealed partly behind a large tapestry. The door is slightly open, letting in the chill night air. I motion Tony through the door. He walks in slowly and starts up the short flight of steps behind it, I follow.

We come out on the roof of the building. The wind hisses past us, the snow sailing and dancing along the breeze. I can see two other figures nearby. One of them is an older man, he holds a cane is his hand and is glaring at the woman in front of him. She's down on her knees near the edge of the building. Her bright crystal eyes brim with fear as she begs to the stern figure standing over her. Her thin steel gray dress is plastered to her perfect body by the brisk wind. Her hair is in a tight bun, but a few strands have come loose and billow about her elegant face. I shove Tony along ahead of me, his gun to his back. This is it, the finale, no time for mistakes. There's a snap, and I'm gone. 

* * *

There's a snap, and he's gone. I'm standing in the doorway of my hotel room. Tony stands outside. He pulls a revolver out from under his jacket and hands it to me. 

"Here you are man, what's this all about?"

"Don't worry about it Tony, it will all make sense later. Now here's what you have to do. Go home and wait for my calls."

"Calls?"

"Just wait for my calls, you'll understand later. When you get both of them head out to the coffee shop on Rutherford avenue."

"What, that one out by the city limits?"

"Yes Tony, be quiet will you?" I snarl at him slightly, he goes quiet and waits. He knows he still owes me a boon for saving his life. It was silly of me to do so, but now I get to reap the rewards for my efforts. "Wait in an alley outside. I'll show up with Crystal and have a meeting. After it's done I'll come out. Then I need you to come and tell me not to trust her."

"Oh, I get it, so you'll remember then what you know now."

"Sure Tony, that's why. Then go back home and wait. I'll call again to find out about the gun, that's when you agree to meet me and tell me it's owned by Decker." Tony nods in confusion. "After that just stay with me, I'll need your help for the end. Oh, and I'm going to apologize ahead of time. I accidentally jump on you once or twice, but don't worry. I don't hurt you."

"Oh, good. Apology accepted. Okay man, see you then!"

I close the door and walk back into the apartment. Samantha still lies sobbing on the bed. Her cheeks stained crimson with tears. She screamed for quite a while after I changed her. You'd think she'd have appreciated the touch of a god. I pull out my notes. 

'You have a room reserved at the Marriott Royale on East Timberlake St. Rent has been paid for until the first of March 2001'

'Keep an eye out for Tony, he owes you a big favor 213-473-1982. Careful, he might lie about it'

'Tony wants to meet at the Daze club at nine'

'You've met a girl named Samantha. She's nice. Treat her right'

'Met Crystal, Ventrue. She'll be trouble, wants to use you. Hates Decker. 213-921-7392'

'Her name is Samantha, you think you love her'

'Help Samantha. She's scared of her sire, Decker. Why?'

I smirk at the last two. I wrote them as I sat on the bed and listened to her screams of terror. So much fear just because she didn't have a pulse anymore. I pull a match off of the complimentary pack that lies on the dresser. I burn all the notes except the one about my room and the last two. I drop the burning embers into the wastebasket and write out one last note. Good ol' Tony, too bad my stupid friend, too bad.

'Keep an eye out for Tony, he owes you a big favor 213-473-1982 Beware his lies'

There, that way I'll never figure it out. This way I'll stay in the dark until it's too late. Remove the loose threads, that's the way to hide a conspiracy. Especially from yourself.

"What are you going to do?"

I glance up at Samantha's sobbed question. She lies propped up on the bed, her face fearful. I grin at her as I shove my notes into my pockets and lift up the gun. Her eyes widen as she looks at it, she gasps in fear.

"Don't worry Samantha. I'm going to love you forever for no reason. That's the purest type of love there is. Isn't it? Unrequited love. That's what all the knights tried to do for their ladies. Well I'm going to be your knight. Plus, I'll kill the man who murdered you. Doesn't that prove how much I care?"

She shakes her head in mute terror, confusion brimming in her wide eyes. I point the gun at my left arm and fire. The phosphorus round ripping into my skin and searing my flesh. I hiss in pain at the horrible burn. I then glance back up and smile at her. Samantha looks very worried now. I wonder why? I've already explained everything to her. It should all make sense. She clutches a pillow tightly in fear, her eyes lock on mine.

"I love you Samantha."

I shoot her in the chest, right through her heart. She collapses onto the bed. I nod and sit down slowly in the chair next to the dresser. I toss the smoking gun onto the floor. I lean back and wait. It will start soon enough. But for now my job is over, and his is just beginning. 

* * *

I'm standing on top of a building. The snow silently falls around me. My hands are coated with blood. I'm back at the scene of my mistake. I look down at Tony's body. I look over at Crystal's. I finally even look at Decker's. None of them. None of them deserved it. I didn't know! What had I been doing? Why had I done it? It just doesn't make sense for me to have done all that. I'm in charge of me, that's about the only fact I thought my life would ever hold. That has been the only constant I have possessed. But it was gone. Why? 

The snow falls white around me. The red blood drips off my talons. The lights of the city are bright and stabbing beams of yellow. I hate yellow. Yellow you say? Yellow stands for fear, cowardice. My cowardice of not ever looking within myself and facing what I am. I look up at the falling snow. On the distant horizon I can see the lightening of the sky from black to blue. Blue, opposite of yellow. I don't care. I'll stay here and think. I'll face all that I am. Let the sun claim me. Perhaps that will erase my sins. 

I love you Samantha...and I'm sorry. 

* * *

You think you've caught me now, don't you? You think you've figured it out and can stop me. You won't let it ever happen again will you? You'll walk out into a sunrise and end yourself before the madness ever grabs hold again. But you are not mad, I am. You are not me, I am. You are not aware of our future and past, I am. You cannot last in a world where I am real and you are nothing. I am the rubber band man! I cannot be caught. 

You even now pull at your hair and curse the god that has forsaken you. No god has forsaken you, for I am your god as I am that I am the rubber band man. You will try to stop me, you always do, but you cannot. After all, I am my future and you are my past. It cannot be changed, I win, you lose. Think and you will remember the battle yet to come. It will all happen again and there is nothing you can do about it! For I am the rubber band man, you will never remember that which will make you hate thyself that is myself. For I am the rubber band man, and soon my brain will rocket away to safety as I...

SNAP!


	6. First Law: Madness is as Madness Does

Welcome back o loyal reader into the halls of madness. This is a continuation of the Fragments storyline, however now from the perspective of a new Malkavian. However, don't think It's going to be as simple as Donovan's tale, after all, this Malkavian knows he is mad...

Judicature of Madness 

First Law: Madness is as Madness Does 

Case File 13: Fragments... 

I was a cop. I am good at my job. This is not as insane as it sounds. I hate that word...insanity. It has a bad ring to it. How can being in sanity make you not sane? Madness is better. It naturally suggests the peril of the situation. It's a warning to others. A sign that danger lies ahead. A way that others might know to avoid the problem.

I suffer from madness.

But as I was saying. I was a cop. Sure it was years ago, before I became what I am now. A Kindred. A vampire. A corpse that arises each night to feast upon the blood of the living. But that's as far as the movies will ever get you in understanding me.

That's because the vampire that embraced me was a Malkavian. As a clan we're a sorry lot. We all suffer from madness...or so we would have you believe. But many of us are just suffering bouts of insanity. It is not the same thing. Some of us are harmlessly eccentric. Others are mad. It's the mad ones you have to worry about. They get crazy, they get dangerous, they get wild. That's where I come in. I pick up the shattered pieces. I collect up the fragments and put them back together. Then I dispense justice. 

* * *

I pull my beautifully restored '79 black Jaguar to a stop outside of the glittering mass of the Michigan Tower. The tallest and most prominent building in all of Detroit. The night streets were busy, cars roaring past through the softly falling snow. I climb out of my car and try to shake some of the rumples out of my suit.

Detroit. What a piss poor excuse for a city. The whole damn place looks like it's just slowly rotting away into the darkness. The shining towers of industry struggling into the sky for escape as the black slime of the slums crowds around them. I already don't like the place. Still, ol' Scott told me I had to head down here, and my sire is not a man to argue with. He said there had been some bad business here two nights ago and I was needed to go help clean things up. Now all I had to do was go tell the prince he needed me.

The guards give me a good once over and take my Desert Eagle automatic off me. They flip through my pockets and eye my wallet over. One of them snickers a bit at the sight of my badge. I look him in the eye and thank him as I take it back. I insert a few nightmares for later. Let the little bastard snicker when he can't get any sleep for the next few nights. They direct me to an elevator and tell me the floor.

The elevator zooms me up to the top of the building. I step out into a luxurious sitting room. A few men in butler uniforms guide me to a seat. They've got to be ghouls. Despite their pleasant attitude I can clearly spot the slight bulge from the guns hidden under their jackets. After a few minutes of waiting another ghoul slips into the room and tells me the primogen and prince are willing to see me. I run a hand over my blonde hair to make sure it's still slicked back and neat. I walk into the meeting room.

They're all there, sitting around a large polished redwood table. The man at the head of the table has to be prince Steven. He's distinguished, all dark and mysterious. About what you expect from a prince. Seated next to him, so that he can whisper secrets, is the hunched and hideous shape of a Nosferatu. Obviously a trusted advisor and spy. I also take careful note of the quiet and plain looking woman with mussed frizzy hair who sits near this end of the table. Unless I miss my guess that has to be Jilean, primogen of the Malkavians. Of the other primogen I pay little mind, they mean nothing to me.

"Greetings prince Steven," I say with a respectful bow. He grins slightly, those old guys are always happy when you stick to old forms of respect. "My name is Johan Skinner, childe of Sir Scott Landyard of the clan of Malkav. I am your humble servant and the solution to your pressing investigation problems."

"Investigation problems," says Steven with a frown. One of his dark eyebrows ticks upwards as his eyes narrow. "What exactly do you refer to?"

"I am a special envoy of the clan." I bow again. "It is my duty to make sure misunderstandings do not occur between us and our fellow, respected, clans. I have come to facilitate the quick and proper conclusion of the strange murders that happened two nights past."

"Ah," Steven frowned slightly as he glanced over at Jilean. She quickly shook her head, her eyes slightly fearful. "You are discussing the deaths of the Ventrue Crystal, the Brujah Tony, and the Malkavian Decker?" I quickly nod my head again. "What makes you think I need your help. The sheriff is a very thorough investigator."

"Then you know who committed this crime?"

"The investigation continues."

I smile and bow slightly to him again. The Ventrue, if you tied them down and pissed on them they'd try to explain it away as rain if they thought it could save them from embarrassment. All this needs is a bit of finesse. I'll admit that's not my specialty, but I know how to do it when I have to.

"My lord. I fully realize that left to his own devices the sheriff would without fail bring to you the murderer. However, might I suggest you allow me to aid him in his investigation. I have great understanding into how the mind of a killer works." 

You note I don't say the mind of a Malkavian. There's no absolute guarantee that one of my clan did the killings. Just that certain confident note in my sire's voice, and I've never known him to be wrong about this sort of thing. But it's important not to work up too big of a bloodlust about my clan's involvement. At least not until I have the murderer in hand to throw to the wolves. 

"I assure you that I will prove valuable."

The prince goes quiet. He clasps his hands in front of his mouth and just eyes me up and down slowly. Next to him the Nosferatu leans forward and softly says something to him. Steven then grins. I'm not sure whether to consider that a good sign or a bad one. In any case he nods his head slowly at me as he speaks.

"Very well then Mr. Skinner. I believe your help would be most worthwhile. You are given leave to dwell in this city until after the murderer has been found. I brook no breaking of any of the Traditions, and trust you realize due to our proximity to the Sabbat that this discipline is required. I shall entrust you to Jilean, she shall provide you with haven and food for the duration of your stay. Tomorrow night you shall meet up with the sheriff and begin helping him in the investigation. Is this understood?"

"Of course my prince, you have my gratitude and that of my sire and clan." 

* * *

"Who the heck are you?"

Jilean frowns at me over her shoulder as we climb out of my car. We parked out in back of Mercy Hospital. Not that big of a surprise that the clan would have itself well entrenched in the hospital...especially the loony bin. God, do I hate these sort of places. They remind me of what happened to my mom and dad. It was never a pretty sight to come visit them.

"My name is Johan Skinner, I'm a special investigator for the cl-"

"Don't hand me that hogwash," snarls Jilean as she brushes by me and heads for the rear door of the hospital. I straighten my yellow tie and brush off my brown suit as I follow her. She's got a bit of an attitude, but I can see why she's in charge of the clan hereabouts. She's still pretty lucid. In fact, despite the ride together, I had yet to figure out what her quirk was. "Do you really believe you are what you say you are? Did your sire ever discuss his little organization with anyone else?"

"Yes and no," I say with a nod as we pass through the doors.

The old smell hits me hard. Almost makes me want to run crying out of there. The way they had mom hooked up to those machines. Tubes sticking out of every part of her body. Blinking lights and humming buzzers all around her. She was screaming. They said she was in a coma, but I knew she was awake. She was screaming and screaming and screaming. Why couldn't they help her? Why wouldn't they help her!?

"Why does that not surprise me," she mutters darkly. "Now listen here Mr. Skinner. I run a tight ship. I arranged for this little safe haven to be made. Almost the whole clan finds it very restful, you'd be surprised how many stay here. They say it helps them relax and deal with the outside world. I gave them this nice quiet place they can get away to. I make sure any of us not fit to go out don't go out. I keep them calm. I don't let any of the others get too worked up with their problems. We don't have problems, which makes me wonder why we need you."

"The murder of three Kindred suggests there's at least a bit of a problem ma'am." I smile at her as we step into the elevator. "Don't worry, I'm not here to hurt anyone. I just want to get to the truth."

I am the truth and the word of God. Dad wandering through the hallways screaming at the top of his voice. Dragging his calostomy bag with him because they couldn't trust him in a bathroom alone. Telling you every time you visited him that he was God and you were spit...less then spit....worth less then the spit of spit. Dad, God, whoever. He never cared if you were there or not. If it was day or night. He just hadn't cared.

"The truth? With our clan? You just might be the craziest Malkavian I've ever met."

"I do suffer from madness." The elevator reaches the intensive care ward. They keep it below street level so it's harder for the patients to get out. We walk down the long hallways, the distant echoing cries of the condemned swirling around us. "So Jilean, who do you think did it?"

"I don't worry about that sort of stuff," she says with a wave of her hand. "I just keep to my own business." I nod at her, as though that's answer enough for me. She takes me over to one of the emergency wings, the door has been locked shut and a condemned sign nailed across the door. She pulls out a key and opens it up. "I'll see about introducing you around. That is if you'd like to meet the others here."

"Thank you." 

Yes, it's always good to know the suspects.

She leads me to a sitting room. Four people are sitting there. Two playing gin rummy, another watching TV. The last sitting quietly in the corner and reading a book. Jilean motions to the two playing cards. One is a tough looking young guy decked out like a Marine. His hair buzz cut and his face serious. I note the pair of pistols strapped by his waist. The second card player is a stunningly endowed woman. She wears a skintight and extremely thin black dress. Her long black hair is done up in an elaborate do atop her head. She even has a small dagger tucked into her belt. Basically she looks just like that TV hostess Elvira.

"That is Jake Storm and Dachia Marks. Jake keeps the place safe and runs a gun supply business to keep us with a ready supply of cash. Dachia...works the streets occasionally. But she's harmless."

We turn to the TV watcher. It's a thin teenage girl. Her face is thickly coated in heavy makeup. Done up with her eyes too dark and her skin too white. Her lips are also dark black. Her blonde hair is dirty and pulled back into two ragged ponytails. She wears a tattered white ballet costume. Her large blue eyes are held frozen in the light of the show she's watching. She giggles and tugs at her hair slightly.

"That poor dear is Phaedra. We don't let her out much..."

The quiet book reading fellow is dressed in black slacks and a black turtleneck sweater. A worn black jacket is draped over the back of his chair. His brown hair was kept trimmed short and neat. His thin face has a bit of stubble around his chin and mouth. His soft brown eyes scan over the pages carefully. He holds a yellow highlighter in his right hand. As he reads he seems to mark over the section. Slowly highlighting the entire page as he goes.

"And there is Christopher Donovan. He just moved in here recently after some problems he had. But he's a fairly peaceful fellow all told. There's also a few other members of the clan. But they happen to be out at the moment. I could introduce you to them all early tomorrow night."

"Good, I may need to see them later, but this is good."

"You'll be needing a room I suppose." Jilean turns and slips out of the common area. I follow her, already considering what I'll need to solve the case. "I have some business to tend to, so I'm afraid I have to dash. She turned and knocked on a door. A young kid dressed in loose black clothing and with protruding buck teeth opens the door. "Tommy, be a dear and show Mr. Skinner to a room."

"Sure, room. I'll show him room," mutters the kid as he nods a few times. 

He sounds like Rain Man, all stuttering and confused. But does he too have hidden talents? Hidden...hidden talons. The blades sharp in my hand. The metal ripped into me as it hit. The force cutting me as much as the target. But it had to have been done, there was no way around it. I am the truth and the word of God. Dad laughed about it when they told him...he laughed.

"Thanks Jilean," I say with a curt bow of my head. All I need is for you to get me some information on the clan. Each of their habits and natures. Then I want to meet with them tomorrow."

"What, all of them?"

"Yes."

She nods and walks off. I follow the buck toothed kid down the hall. He rambles on about Decker as we walk. His stuttering speech slurring out of his crooked mouth. I am the truth and the word of God. Dad's words from my quivering mouth as I cried. The white sheets were white no more. White is might, white is right. White at night, it had made her upset. She had wanted out so badly. How could it have been wrong? It was just a matter of learning what right and wrong was, and then doing the right thing. 

"So you're gonna solve the Decker thing," sputtered the kid as he grinned at me. "That's cool, I liked Decker, he was cool. It weren't cool that he...y'know, got hurt. He was always cool with me."

"You were his pal then," I ask with a fake grin, the better to relax him. The kid shrugs and nods.

"I got all sorts of pals here. Everybody likes me...I like them too, all of them."

"Did anyone not like Decker?" He pauses, as though considering the very concept of the question.

"I don't think Decker liked anyone, but no one really hated Decker." He shrugs as he walked over and opened up a door to one of the rooms for me. "But you're gonna find the guy, right?"

I nod at him. Yes. The suspects have been assembled. The investigation can start tomorrow when I meet with the sheriff. I've seen the faces of some of the suspects. I've sensed the soul of all of them. Some are only insane. But at least one suffers from madness. I will sniff him out, I will drag him forth...and I shall see that we have justice!


	7. Second Law: When in Doubt, Break Somethi...

Once again the madness continues (and you thought it would start to lessen). I pull out an old character from some other tales to show Johan around town. I showcase the fact that Johan's investigation may not be as effective as was originally hoped. Plus I reveal the problems of shirts and plumbing. A big nod of ripoff goes to the movie Million Dollar Hotel from which I stole some ideas for this piece. (It's a cool movie, if a little twisted. It, City of Lost Children, and Memento are the big influences for this work). But for now read on and see if you can handle the workings of a...

Judicature of Madness: A Tale of Detroit 

Second Law: When in Doubt, Break Something 

My sire suggested I could help out the clan with my skills. He told me that the clan is often looked down on by other clans. He spoke of horrible massacres that took place when the other clans became fed up with us. He had worked for decades to develop people to help put a stop to this. Special investigators who act as diplomats and interpreters between our clan and the rest of Kindred society.

Not that the rest of the clan happens to believe in my sire's attempts. Not that he's really told many of them. Not that I'm sure they'd care if he did. In the end it's a thankless job. But I know I'm doing good. I know I've saved lives. Both in my clan and in others, maybe even for the mortals. Sure, sometimes people suggest that my methods are a little...extreme. But I get results. After all, isn't that all that matters in an investigation? 

* * *

"I was told the sheriff was a Lasombra...and white."

"Guess that means I'm not the sheriff. Damn, I'm glad you're here to help us out with the investigation. Don't know what we'd have done without you."

The large black man stands outside of the room I was given to sleep in. I hate the room. It's not really a room, at least not a bedroom. It's a treatment room. A cell. It's where they'd hook you up to the machines and surround you with the flashing lights and blaring buzzers. My mom...her screams. I force myself to look over the large black man again. He wears boots, jeans, a 'Rules are made to be broken' T-shirt, sunglasses and a leather jacket. I already don't like him.

"What was your name again," I mutter as I shove past him.

"Derek," is his deep voiced reply. He falls into step behind me as I walk down the dark hallway. His large boots clomping noisily on the polished floors. "Octavian said he was too busy to give you all his time. I'm one of his deputies. I'm here to help you out with your work on the crime scene and any interrogations."

The halls are long and straight. Each seeming to stretch just to the edge of perception. The doors stare at you, white faces with a single glaring eye. Do the doctors look in, or are they looked out upon? I'd hate to work here. It always feels like you're being watched. Being studied. Being judged. The floor makes my shoes squeak as I walk. Like the squeal of dad's stand as he dragged it after him. I am the voice of God. I am the voice of truth. I am the voice of the law.

"Well then Derek, I hope you're ready to start right away. I asked Jilean to arrange me a meeting with all the clan in Detroit she could gather." I feel him stiffen behind me, the usual reaction of fear towards being near too many of us. He shouldn't worry, they're mostly just insane. "I'm going to give them a little talk over, then we can go check out the crime scene. Cool?"

"Cool? Don't try to be cool with me man, you sound like the dad from Leave it to Beaver." I glance over my shoulder at him, he seems serious. "Don't talk street slang unless you mean it." He scowls at me, I shrug and turn away. Speaking his mind openly, wearing his emotions on his sleeve.

Maybe I like him more then I thought.

Jilean was waiting for us at the door to the communal area nervously. She brushes her hand through her frizzy and curled brown hair as she paces back and forth. When she sees us coming she sighs and rolls her eyes desperately skyward.

"About time you showed up! Do you have any idea how upsetting it can be for them to all be in one room together? You need to get in there and get this over with, now!" I nod as I head for the door, but then she reaches out and grabs my arm. "And Skinner, don't you dare set them off. We don't need that. If you do I swear I'll make you regret it."

"Don't worry ma'am, I'm just going in for a nice talk to let them get to know me."

I swing open the door and step inside. There's now some odd dozen or so people sitting around the room. All of their eyes seem to glance over at me, and then just as quickly turn away. They're all talking and chatting. Their voices echoing down the halls, filling the damn hospital. But no one would hear mine. A tinny voice in the empty halls. No one would listen to me when I told them how mom was screaming.

"Look, I wrote the songs, Elvis just sang them. That's how it was back when I..."

"...got the shipment in all right. Now when those pistols hit the streets we'll have..."

"...blood, the blood was spilling out of them. I tried to tell them it'd be..."

"...new paintings? I think I've truly stepped into a new universe of ..."

"...CRAP, then I just think we ALL IDIOTS, should stay calm..."

"...unless you've seen my gloves. I think we should wash all the doorknobs again due to..."

"...my condition? I just don't seem to have the note about how I..."

"...like the color orange. It's good."

Gods I hate them.

"Excuse me ladies and gentlemen. My name is Johan Skinner, and I'm the reason you've all been called here tonight." They all quiet down and turn towards me. Those eyes, coated in chaos yet seeing more then they should. It just makes you uneasy to have that many looking at you at once. Some with curiosity, some fear, some with...something else. "Now I'm not sure if Jilean told you this but-"

"Is this about the water pipes," demands a thin man in glasses and a blue suit.

"Yeah, toilets shut down bad," mutters the teenager with buck teeth. He rubs a hand across his face and grins. "When they shut down...mess." The man in the blue suit stiffens and shivers slightly.

"Yeah, are you here to fix the pipes. I swear they're always being shut off. I can't mix my paint without water. Water is so important to-"

"Shut your damn trap Leo," snarls Jake. Most of the others fall silent as the gun nut shouts loudly. Fear apparent from some of their eyes. He looks back at me, even his face looking military issue. His hand slips down by his camouflage pants to rest near one of his pistols. "I bet this ain't about the damn water pipes."

"It might be," giggled Phaedra as she tugged at her ponytails. "He might be here to fix the water problem."

"That'd be much appreciated," said the man in blue. "Water is the source of purity and cleanliness in this world. Admittedly you have to mix it with forty percent alcohol to increase the ability to kill off most bacteria related germs. And of course boil it at a temperature no less then-"

"Hey Mr. Skinner," a middle aged woman in a ragged dress says quietly, "are you, A USELESS ANNOYANCE, here about the pipes?"

Slightly behind me I hear the deep chuckle of Derek. I sigh to myself. There would have been a time I'd have just turned and walked out. But that had been when I was mortal, back when I gave in to the pressure. I couldn't do that anymore. It was my damn job to see that things got done.

"I'm not here about the pipes, the plumbing, or anything to do with toilets and water." There was a slight mutter of disappointment that rippled across the crowd. "I'm here concerning the death of Decker, one of our clan. I'm here to find out who murdered him. When I ask questions I expect honest answers and no insane ramblings. Know this, I don't give up, and I never stop until I'm done. I'll find out exactly who did it, and then there will be justice. Now, to make it easier on you all I'm going to ask nicely, just this once. If any of you know anything, say so now and spare everyone the grief of me investigating."

I look around at them slowly. Their eyes I meet with my own. I frown, letting them just feel my power and threat. Finally the skinny buck toothed kid half raised his hand. I nod at him with a shark-like grin.

"So this isn't about the toilets?" 

* * *

Derek is still smiling about the whole meeting thing as we drive through the busy downtown streets. His banged up clunker of a van makes a noise like growling dogs every time he steps on the gas. When he applies the brake the whole thing shakes and shimmies. The squealing of the tires sounding like the giggled laughter of them as they asked about the pipes. They knew...I knew they knew...they knew that I knew they knew. But they wouldn't talk. It was the way of the clan, hide behind the madness and scare off the investigation. What Ventrue would waste time questioning a bunch of loonies? They thought I would be the same. Their little glassy eyes all letting me know they didn't respect me. 

I'd have to change that.

They'd have to know.

I suffer from madness.

Derek wasn't laughing too hard to demand he do the driving. After all, he at least knew the streets and the location of the skyscraper the murders happened at. I glance over at him. I know he's just a token offering by the prince. Have a deputy and get out of our hair, that was the message. Also Derek had probably been told to watch me like a hawk. But that was fine with me, just so long as his authority allowed me to conduct my investigation.

"Do you really believe that," I ask him with a nod of my head.

"Believe what?"

"That message, on your shirt." He looks down at the writing. 'Rules are made to be broken'. He shrugs, dismissing my question. But I don't let him. "So do you believe it?"

"It's just a shirt man."

"No. It's a message...a warning to others." He glances over at me as I lean in towards him. "How can an enforcer of the law wear that shirt. Don't you know the symbol of your clan?"

"Yeah, an anarchy symbol. Seems to me tha-"

"No! It's an inverted anarchy symbol! Inverted to mean the opposite! Don't you enforce the laws! Don't you create order!" I reach out and grab the damn shirt as I yell at him. Derek curses as his van starts to swerve around on the street. "Why has your clan fallen from its path!?!"

"What the fuck is your problem?" His hand swings out and catches me hard across the face. I'm thrown back from him, my grip still tight on the shirt so that it rips apart. He pulls over to the side of the road and slams on the brakes. He turns towards me as he pulls off his shades. His eyes gleam in the darkness, his fangs are sharp in his mouth. "You wanna start some shit!?"

I look at the torn scrap of cloth in my hand. I look back at his shirt. 'Rules are mad' That's all that can still be read around the jagged ripped edges. I grin as I look at it. It's a good message. A proper warning about the rules. I smile at Derek.

"No, no problem at all. I like the shirt."

"Whatever...freak." He pulls back out into the street and keeps driving. I note that he now keeps a careful eye on me. That's a good idea. Finally we pull to a stop in front of a towering skyscraper. "Here she is, but we have to head up to the roof." We walk through the lobby. Despite Derek's appearance none of the security guards seem to give him a second glance. The elevator ride is long and uneventful. But the office is interesting, there's a tang of blood in the air. "This was Crystal's office, one of Decker's ghouls died here. He attacked her and she shot him down with a .38 that she dropped nearby."

"So Decker was attacking Crystal, how come?"

"No one can say for sure." Derek motions me towards a tapestry and pulls it aside to reveal a stairway to the roof. We climb up onto it. A soft blanket of white snow lies gently over it. Around us the lights of the city twinkle brightly. The roars of the streets far off and distant. "This is where the others all died. We couldn't scan any of the bodies because the sun burned them all to ash and the wind blew them all over town." I nod in mild annoyance, usually murders are so easy to solve with the quick application of a few vamparic powers. "However there was some bloodstains, thus we were able to identify each of the dead."

Excellent work," I mutter as I slowly pace around the roof. A Malkavian ghoul dies at the hands of a Ventrue. Then the Malkavian, the Ventrue, and a Brujah end up dead. How'd the Brujah fit into the picture? "Can you show me where the bodies were found?"

"Sure."

Derek points them all out. They all died near the door back into the office. Crystal had died with a .357 magnum in her hands. Or perhaps dropped near her... The gun had belonged to the Brujah, who was a known anarch sympathizer who had expressed hatred of Crystal before. So how had she gotten the gun, it's not like she could have wrestled it away from him. And what had Decker been doing here?

"Any other bodies?"

"None, except for some punk security guard back down in the lobby. But he was just blown away when Decker showed up."

"Good. I think I need to question some of my clan now."

"How are you going to get anything out of those crazy bastards," chuckles Derek as he follows me back down the stairs. "You saw them. They care more about their goddamn plumbing then they do about this investigation, Decker's death, or you."

"You know what?" I turn around and smile back at him. "I think you're absolutely right." 

* * *

There's a loud crack as the heavy wrench smashes into the rusting chain. It tugs sharply against the pipes but doesn't give way. I grunt as I pull back and hit it harder. There's a pop and the chain clatters down to smash onto the floor in a tangled pile. I smirk as I drop the wrench, it lands with a loud bang.

"Man," sighs Derek as he stands back and watches me. "I know this shit ain't regular procedure for anyone. Didn't Jilean say something to you about not upsetting or disturbing them?"

"They are disturbed, that's why they're here." I grab onto the now freed pressure valve and twist. The rusting joint squeaks in frustration as I slowly start to turn it.

"All I'm saying is I don't think Octavian would do something like this."

The joint gives in as I twist the valve around. Water starts to spray out in a fine cloud from around the joint. I laugh as I step back. 

* * *

Water poured in heavy drops from the sagging ceiling. Sparks flashed and twisted through the air, raining down behind me in a crackling curtain. The once bright lights were now dimmed and flickering. A bulb popped noisily in a brief flash of brilliance. I sat upon the counter of the nurses station as I watched them all come pouring out of their rooms angrily. Derek stood next to me, his boots allowing him to ignore the water. They sloshed through the ankle deep liquid morass in confusion as they looked at the sodden ceiling tiles.

"Man this isn't cool. Back with Elvis we never would have put up..."

"...with this crap! I swear I'm going to shove a shotgun right up someone's..."

"...watery holes, like punctures in the flesh. The blood is covering me! The blood..."

"...is all over my paintings! They're ruined! I was only able to save a few of the ..."

"...SHIT COVERED FUCK, what's going on? I woke up and everything was..."

"...dirty, dirty, dirty. All this water, soaking in and creating molds. I need high boots..."

"...to repair my notes. I should have remembered this, but I know I will when I get the plastic..."

"...things are wet...cool."

Gods I hate them.

They all wander into the room, looking for answers to this nightmare. They all jump back in surprise as a large ceiling tile suddenly gives way and collapses in a stream of water. It splashes down hard onto the floor, creating a new sodden mess. I look up as Jilean comes into view. Her plain gray dress soaked to the bone as she storms angrily through the water towards me. Her frizzy hair, now wet, clings limply to her face, dripping water over her thick glasses.

"Skinner! What the hell do you think you're doing! The whole plumbing section for this ward looks like somebody went over it with a sledgehammer!"

"Wrench actually..."

"I don't care! How am I supposed to cover this up from the kine in charge of the hospital?! They'll have to come in and fix it!" Around her the other Malkavians start crying and shouting in annoyed confusion. "Look at them damnit," shouts Jilean as she waves her arm around. "Do you have any idea what it will take to calm them down again!?!"

"Don't worry, they're just insane. No problem there." Jilean stands quietly in annoyed confusion. I look over as Phaedra wanders slowly down the stairs and into the room. Her damp ballet costume clinging to her pale flesh as she pulls at her ponytails. A ragged flower caught in her hair. She looks over at me and suddenly laughs. She shouldn't be laughing, she should be answering questions! I leap off the counter and splash down next to her and grab her shoulders. I shake her as I yell over the tumult of the cries of the others. My nose twitching as I catch her scent, a scent of fear and sweat. "Tell me! Tell me what you know! I know you know!"

"Let her alone!" The cry comes from the buck toothed teenager. He springs onto my back and wraps his arms tightly around my throat. Phaedra gasps as she's tossed back onto the watery floor. I stagger slightly as he jerks and pulls at my neck, trying to snap it. "Leave her alone, leave her alone, leave her alone!" The others are all shouting and yelling now too. I curse as I try to pull him off.

"Back the fuck off kid, this guy should be considered a deputy." Derek storms up through the raining sparks and water. His deep voice rumbles in his chest as he grabs a hold of the kid. "And nobody screws with a deputy of the sheriff!" With an ease born from superhuman strength Derek peels the kid off me and grips him tightly. "I got him!"

"You got him?" I spin around and look at the skinny kid struggling in Derek's large grasp.

"I got him."

"Good!" I curl my hand into a fist and deck the kid hard across the jaw. His head jerks to the side as his lip splits open and sprays out a thin trickle of blood. Derek growls in anger as he tosses the kid away to land atop Phaedra.

"What the hell do you think you're doing," he snarls at me. 

I reach into my coat and pull out my Desert Eagle. The massive pistol reflects the spitting lights of the sparks as I raise it. Derek quickly steps back from me, his face worried. I fire two shots into the air, the thundering reports of the gun blasting away the screams of my fellow clan members. They grow quiet as they look at me.

"Listen here you little punks," I snort as I look around the room. "I am the word and I am the law! You think just because I'm visiting means I don't have any power? Well I've got power! I know what this place is to you, it's all you've got. You can't survive anywhere else. Now hear this, if you don't all cooperate with me at every step of this investigation...then I swear I will rip this place down around your ears brick by stinking brick. I will make sure the waters don't flow and the lights don't burn. I shall call down a curse upon this place and set it on fire if that's what it'll take!"

I look around at them now. The chaos has fled from their eyes. They now look strangely fearful. They know that I'm not lying. Even Jilean has grown quiet. Her ragged hair drips water into her face as she slowly backs away from me. On the watery ground the buck toothed kid hugs Phaedra to him as he looks up fearfully at me.

"You can't mean," one of them finally managed to murmur.

"Oh but I do! You think you can act crazy and keep the sheriff off your backs? Well that won't work with me. Because no matter how crazy you are, I can do you one better! That's because you're just insane..." They all look at my eyes as I smile at them. I slowly slip the gun back under my coat. "But I suffer from madness!"


	8. Third Law: Need Information? Don't Ask, ...

Judicature of Madness 

Third Law: Need Information? Don't Ask, Eavesdrop. 

My new job isn't much like my old one. Back then all you had to do was draw the lines that connected point A to point B. Once you had the line you had your man. But now I have to draw lines from point Z to point J. Sometimes they aren't straight lines either. Sometimes they curve, loop, fall back on themselves. Sometimes the line disappears and restarts later. Sometimes there's just the line...and no points.

But that doesn't stop me. I always get the line drawn sooner or later. My sire always said that was in my nature. I'm not sure about that. All I know is that there's a right and there's a wrong. Everyone who tells you about pretty shades of gray is insane. Everyone who insists there isn't black and white is mad. Justice shall ever be. That's my motto, that's my mantra, that's my madness. 

* * *

"Let me just say Mr. Skinner, that thus far you have done little to earn my faith in your investigation methods."

I sit in an office down in the basements of the hospital. Jilean's office. The walls are covered in books and files, more books and files then anyone could read in a lifetime. Not that that means she hasn't read them I suppose. She sits behind her desk and stares hard at me. Her less then noteworthy face hardly improved by the mixture of scowl and deep concentration that now sits upon it. There's one of those little perpetual motion machines on the desk. A globe being orbited by some other planets.

"In fact you seem to be set on destroying what little order I've brought to the clan. Shaking up some of the most unstable and dangerous vampires in town. And basically making a royal nuscience of yourself. Now the prince did order you to help me, but..."

The world centered within the planets. Mom centered in the galaxy. Dozens of white shapes spinning and arcing around her. She screams because they won't go away, won't leave her alone. They just keep orbiting and orbiting. I am the voice of god and the center of the universe! Dad's cries as he happily wheels down the hall, his face streaming with tears after I told him about it. I shall set things aright, it shall be as I will it. Will it? It wasn't...that's what lead to the Big Bang.

"Are you listening to me Mr. Skinner!"

"Of course I am," I automatically reply. My mind quickly coming off auto pilot and replaying the last few moments of her tirade. But nothing of import was revealed about the case, so I forget it again. "All I really need from you are some case histories."

"Some what?" 

Her scowl deepens, old pockmarks on her face becoming little dark pits of anger. It's as though her entire face might collapse in on itself like a black hole. Black holes. So many black holes, but they never stayed black for long. But they were enough, they shattered the universe. They didn't drag in, they pushed out. The whole series of orbiting figures in white went scattering away screaming. The death of a universe, the death of a god. Mom at peace, mom smiling. So silent after all the screams, all the noise.

"Case studies," I say with an easy grin. "You're primogen, you know you need to understand your clanmates. At least as much as they can be understood." I reach forward and tap the plaque that sits in the front of the desk. "You also keep an Ph.D. after your name. You used to be a doctor, it's in your eyes. You always evaluate, and you'd have evaluated them. But you need control too, it's in your nature. Thus you would have written them up, jotted them down. Just like you used to when alive."

Jilean goes very quiet then. The pockmarks fade away as her eyes narrow behind their thick glasses. She steeples her fingers and leans back in her chair. The rusted springs issue a squeak of protest. Her lips purse downward into a contemplative frown. I have her worried now, off balance. Just the way I like it.

"You're not quite so stupid as I thought, are you?" I don't bother answering, that question just seems rather too rhetorical. Her eyes dart over me carefully, reexamining every inch. She knows she needs to try and get control back, or she never will. "Perhaps you are more capable then I thought. Tell you what, how about I give you some limited copies of the case studies? There is still some information I don't wish to have made public knowledge.

Never will. She's lost it. Why mention you'll hide stuff? I expect it. Everyone hides stuff, no need to mention it. But she may as well have painted a picture for me. She's got stuff to hide and is worried what I may find out. I knew that before but now I have proof. She's now my number one suspect.

At least until I talk to the others. 

* * *

"You want me to do what?"

Derek looks over at me as we ride down the elevator towards the Malkavian ward. I'm slipping on a pair of plastic gloves and snapping them tight around my hands. He has a new T-shirt, it's about Malcom X. There's a message there. Forgetting your past to deal with your future. Whereas I dig up the past to destroy someone's future. I decide I don't like the shirt.

"I want you to do the questioning," I repeat. Why didn't he understand me the first time I said it?

"Naw man, I heard you the first time. I know what you want me to do. And it's not like me interviewing Malks seems like a good idea in any case. But, it's the part about you wanting me to interview them as a distraction so you can place the bugs that has me wondering."

"Well, yeah. I need a distraction. If I planted them without a distraction they'd all know about them."

"Yeah, I get that part," mutters Derek. "What I'm working on is why the hell are you going to go and plant bugs?"

"Why?" I shrug at him, wondering why he doesn't already get it. "I need to plant the bugs so I can listen to what they say when I'm not there."

"Right, I sorta figured that much..."

I pull out my Desert Eagle and point it at his face. Derek goes still, his features paused in a look of shock and anger. I carefully watch him, trying to read his eyes through his shades. The elevator comes to a clanking stop and opens up into the hallway of the lunatics. The humans wailing and rattling the bars of their padded cages. Mom's screams echoing down the halls as dad proclaimed his divinity. My screams, echoing back to me as I ran in terror down endless hallways.

"Why do you keep asking me questions if you already know the answers?"

"I just know the answers you're giving me," murmurs Derek quietly. "What I want to know is why you're willing to risk upsetting the entire damn clan just so you can listen in on their private lives? Prince Steven and Octavian would never agree to this sort of madness."

"This isn't madness, it's just expediency." I tuck the gun back under my coat. "Trust me on this one, I'd know."

"Right, sure, no problem." 

* * *

"Sure I knew Decker man, he was a cool cat."

Subject One: Barry. Suffers from delusional concepts of greatness. He says when he was alive he wrote for Elvis. Everything the so called 'king of rock-n-roll' did was created by him. Of course Elvis quickly dumped him once he had made it big. That was why the king's career went down the shitter apparently. But Barry doesn't hold it against him, just so long as his descendants would be so kind as to put his name on all the songs.

"Okay," mutters Derek as he readies his pen above the notebook I gave him. "Can you think of anyone who had a special relationship with Decker. Either bad or good?"

"Oh cool man, yeah. Ol' Decker was a bit of a sourpuss y'know. About the only people he talked to around here were Tommy and Jilean. I don't think Jilean liked him much, but Decker was always willing to help her organize things. About the only one of us really who ever helped her."

"And Tommy," prompted Derek with a low sigh.

"Oh Tommy is friends with about all of us y'know. Yeah, if you need something you can always ask Tommy and he'll go get it for you."

His room is an amalgamated collection of records, cassettes, and CD's. He also has a swarm of concerts on compact tape, VHS, and Beta. The walls are plastered with posters of just about any musical style you could think of, even disco. I slowly circle around, pausing by the velvet painting of Elvis that sits in the middle of a small alter of memorabilia. I brush my hand along the back as I admire it. This guy is obsessed...that makes him my number one suspect.

"Now look, I don't know what you boys think you're really going to learn here. But you can take my word for it, none of us would have touched Decker. He was probably the scariest guy in the whole place!" 

* * *

"They think I'm the scariest guy in the whole place, that's what you've been hearing ain't it?"

Jake Storm: suffers from paranoid delusions concerning the end times. Believes himself to be a harbringer from heaven here on earth to bring about the just punishment of those who have opposed the will of god. God, yelling and laughing as he moves up and down the corridors. Dad, yelling and laughing as he moves up and down the corridors. Where does the myth end and reality begin? With justice. Once you have had justice everything else is just the blurred sprays of paint around the one important object in the picture. I am the voice and the word of God.

"You think you can pin this shit on me, don't ya? Well I was thinking of killing Decker, sure. I'll tell you that straight up and honest. But I wasn't going to do it yet, I don't think it was quite his time. Besides, if I'd have killed him I would have been a damn sight more effective about it. You know that you can rig a car bomb to..."

Jake paces around his room, his eyes darting about carefully between Derek and myself. His hands tap out little patterns of beats and thumps on the two pistols strapped to his waist. The walls here are mostly bare, save for a few mounted guns and an odd army poster or two. The bed is tight and made in a military fashion. A heavily dog-eared bible rests on the nightstand next to a lamp and an ashtray.

"Nobody said anything about us thinking it was you," said Derek quietly. I can tell he's tense as he watches Jake's erratic pacing. "Why don't you just relax and sit down over here?" 

Derek motions to the bed, Jake snarls and starts walking to it. But I can't be having with that. I step in front of the bed and block Jake's path. He frowns and the sounds of his fingers drumming against his guns picks up. I simply smile at him and pick up the bible. I let it fall open, the worn pages opening to an oft perused section.

"Revelations? Behold the pale horse, and him that sat upon it was death..."

"...And hell followed with him, Revelations 6:8," snapped Jake as he snatched the bible from my hands and spins away from the bed. His pacing grows faster as his one free hand continues to caress and tap at his gun. "For I am the angel of death, and the time of cleansing is upon us. Fire shall commence from the heavens above and all who do not repent shall feel the taste of hellfire!"

Whoa man," says Derek nervously as he backs off from Jake. "Why don't you just relax? Take a deep breath and chill, okay?

I pick up his ashtray and look it over while Derek desperately attempts to regain control of Jake. Yes, that guy is dangerous indeed. He's my number one suspect. 

* * *

Why are you asking about Tommy? I thought you would have wanted to know about Decker. I've got plenty to say about him and- Don't touch that!" Derek's hand pulls back suddenly from the sink. Mr. Addler half leaps from his chair, and then quickly falls back into it. He pulls out a handkerchief from under his coat, pulls it out from its plastic vacum wrap, and dabs at his face. "Sorry...it's just that I just disinfected..."

"Yeah man, no sweat."

Mr. Randolph Addler III: Paranoid obsessive compulsive regarding the presence of germs and bacteria. His room is perfectly spotless, a place for everything and everything in its place. Mr. Addler peers at us as he pretends to fuss about the sink, I know he's smarter then he appears. He's playing things up a bit to throw us off. That makes him dangerous. He drops the handkerchief into a mini-incinerator and turns back to Derek.

"So you want to know about Tommy? Well, he helps out around the place. Quiet, respectful. He doesn't wash his hands very often, so I never use him for chores myself..."

The clean, spotless white walls of the room shine back at me brightly. Like the clean walls of that place where mom had to stay. Clean no more, spattered red they were, once it was over. The men in white didn't want to come in, I guess the red scared them. Why had I been forced to do it? Why hadn't they listened. Why hadn't dad? Her screams became my screams, the long hallways that were empty and watching me. I had to do it.

"But if you really want to know you should ask Phaedra. Tommy's always hanging around her, seeing if she needs anything. A bit sad really, like he thinks she's interested."

"She giving him the cold shoulder then," asks Derek with a chuckle.

Yes, the shoulder had been cold, as had all of my skin. The wind had bitten me to the bone, as though trying to eat me alive. But the water, that had been the culprit. Soaking up my heat like a starving man would lap up milk. But it had to have been done. There had to have been justice.

"Yeah, which is a surprise since she gives everyone else something warm and fuzzy." Mr. Addler shakes his head and frowns. "It's disgusting I tell you, simply disgusting."

He knows stuff, and he's telling me. Being honest and open. That makes him my number one suspect. 

* * *

"Tommy? Oh sure, Tommy would always ANNOYING TWERP help out. I really like how he'll bring me food for my cats without me even having to remind him."

Alice rocked back and forth in her chair as she petted one of the dozen or so cats that littered the room. Derek sat in uncomfortable annoyance as one of the cats clawed at his leg, and another tried to scale up his back. Alice smiled politely at him, her quiet demeanor and peaceful attitude making her one of the more reliable members of the clan. I pause and lean down by a small vase of ragged flowers to sniff at them, their smell tickling my nose. Like the tickling of the smoke from the gun, it had been an interesting scent. It helped mask out the scent of the rooms, I loved it.

"Well, if you guys think that Tommy could have done anything then you're so, PISS ASSED STUPID, far off the mark it makes me sad." She turns and notices me over the flowers. "He picked those for me himself, poor dear. A bit ragged, but I think he was a little too, STUPID, rough with them. But I keep them up just to, FUCK WITH HIM, be nice."

Alice suffers from a minor motor disassociative disorder that makes her occasionally say what she thinks instead of what she wants. This could make her amazingly honest, or amazingly untrustworthy. It all depended on how often what she said was the disorder, and how much she tossed in just to throw people off...

"Look," grunts Derek in annoyance as he tries to shake the cat loose, "just tell us what you know about Decker's death."

"Well, it's really a bit of a mystery to me, EXCEPT THAT DONOVAN DID IT. And all of us are really worried about the whole mess. Especially Jilean, SO LOYAL, she fears this may lead to problems from the Brujah and the Ventrue."

I circle around behind her and look at the assorted tea sets she has on her mantle. Each small and delicate piece of porcelain arrayed in neat and tidy order. Just like the way mom had me arrange her pills. Each little piece of plastic in order of quantity and frequency of use. God would pop in occasionally to visit. He'd laugh at the rows. Say his universe was made to be disordered. But the order is what defines the world. The order that must be protected through justice. But dad saw no order, he wished no order. I am the voice and the word of god. I am the voice and word of anarchy. But I am the voice and word of justice.

"So who's Donovan."

"I didn't say anything about Donovan!" Her fingers dance and thrum through the hair of her cat. It hisses slightly at the rough treatment, the other cats growing tense. I open up the cabinet and look inside at the few cans of cat food, I nod. "You don't want to talk with him, he's..." She leans forward, an odd warning tint in her insane eyes. "He's just not right....in the head."

Neither is she, that makes her my number one suspect. 

* * *

"So, I guess you're finally here to question and punch me."

Donovan looks up as we walk into his room, he tucks a small pile of papers into the pocket of his black slacks as he motions for us to sit down at a table. His room is like the inside of a madman's head. Calendars and clocks are everywhere. The walls are coated with row upon row of notes, each written in neat little handwriting. A map is posted to the ceiling above his head, dozens of pins are inserted into it, each with a note attached to them. They hang down like a twisted and deformed collage.

"We're not gonna hit you man, we just have questions."

"If you wish to believe that, do so. I should probably mention my condition..."

Christopher Donovan: Jilean was very interested in his case study, it was thicker then many of the others despite the fact he hasn't been in town long. Disassociative amnesia with temporal parameters. In layman's terms, he thinks he doesn't experience time in a linear fashion. Rather he thinks he is cast about on the timestream, bouncing from place to place like a man on a bungee cord...or a rubber band.

"Don't bother," sighs Derek as he sits down at the table. "I've heard enough craziness for a couple of lifetimes already today. Just answer some questions."

"Sure."

I wander over to the bed and look up at the map. Written above it, directly above the pillow, is a message in permanent marker. 'You are Christopher Donovan, a vampire, this is your room in Detroit, check for your notes.' I glance back over my shoulder at him. He sits in a chair across from Derek, but his eyes are on me, a strange smile on his face.

"So do you know who killed Decker?"

"Why don't we skip straight to the questions about where Phaedra was last night? That is why you're here, right?"

"What are you talking about," snarls Derek. "We want to ask about Decker!"

"Of course," Donovan laughs slightly and points at me. "His tie is blue tonight, I like blue. By the way, sorry about tomorrow, but I was a little worked up about something. I'd write myself a note, but I may have had good reason to do it. Besides, what has happened has happened, no way to change that now."

Derek glances up at me and nods his head towards Donovan. I shrug and motion for him to continue. Donovan just leans back in his chair his eyes still watching me. It's a little annoying, trying to plant a bug while being watched. It's almost like he knows what I'm trying to do. The problem being he isn't playing the game like the others did.

"So what was your opinion of Decker?"

"I liked him, he was quiet and kept to himself. Yet he was fairly memorable so I never got confused about him. Sort of like Mr. Skinner here."

He never takes his eyes off me. I walk slowly over to the wall at the foot of his bed. There's a calendar there, many of the days are filled in with notes about what happened. However many of the days with notes haven't happened yet. I spot one that will happen tomorrow, it's about me. 'Skinner angers Jilean, gets in trouble with prince.' I turn back towards him, he's still watching.

"What's this note mean?" I point at the calendar. Derek pauses. Donovan only shrugs.

"Sorry, I'm not sure when I wrote that. But..." His eyes suddenly go a little glassy, his lip twitches slightly. Then he slowly looks around. "Uh...hey guys."

"But what," I press him, not wanting to lose out on anything he might know.

"I'm sorry," his hand slips into his coat and pulls out his notes. He starts flipping through them quickly, his eyes scanning them over. "Did I mention my condition?"

"Yes," I snap as I walk over to him. He shrugs as he puts his notes away.

"Then, who are you? I'm afraid we haven't met." 

* * *

"Hey Phaedra, do you want to talk or what?"

Derek stands over her, his arms crossed and a deep frown on his face. She sits cross-legged in front of him, leaning up against the wall and humming softly to herself. The smell that pervades the room tickles my nose. Her room is bare, no furniture at all. However there are books. Piles of books, stacks of books, rows of books, arrangements of books. All sorts of books. Fiction books, non-fiction books, mystery books, research books, scientific books, cartoon books, history books. Books of all types. Books on tape, hard bound books, soft bound books, printed out copies of books. And the axe, there was a axe leaned up against the corner.

"Hey loony tunes, you hear me?"

Phaedra; Jilean apparently had written her off as a fugue state sociopath with minor depression and isolation complications. A murderous sleepwalker. Wonder why they left her the axe? You shouldn't leave the murder weapon in reach of the murderer. All the pills in their neat little rows. All the warnings and statements about exactly how much to take and when. All the descriptions about what would happen if you didn't...the water had been cold. The cold harshness of justice. Phaedra looks up at Derek with a wide smile.

"I cut myself and I feel, did Decker cut himself too?"

"What was that?" Derek crouches down in front of her, an eager look on his face. "Did you see someone cut Decker? Do you know what happened?"

"They all cut Decker, swish, slash." She waves her hand about in a slicing motion. "All the words, little words with barbs. Words are safer on the pages, trapped so they can't get to you..." She drifts off slightly, turning to regard the wall. Her thin legs curl up as she clutches them to her chest, Her head dips forward, her ponytails falling across her too pale face, and heavily mascarraed eyes. "I don't like it when they touch me. I should feel, but I don't."

Derek looks up at me in confusion. I nod to the door. This girl is a crazed murderer who doesn't even know if she murders. Thus she's not a suspect. We step out of the door and walk down the hallway to Tommy's room. However it looks like our little friend slipped out for the day. I open the door and look around the room slowly. It's filled with piles of junk in no particular order other then sloppiness. I smirk at Derek as I spot the small black book laying on a desk...it's labeled diary.

I reach out and flip it open to the bookmarked page. The last two entries are revealed to me. The one mentions my arrival. 'An investigator who is not has arrived to give the justice he cannot find.' The second mentions himself. 'He is disrupting things, hard to focus. He upsets them so I can't do my job. Have to get out, hide.' Hide? I hate it when suspects make things difficult. I pull out my Desert Eagle, Derek quickly takes a few steps back.

"Chill out man!"

"I hate this!" I point the gun at the diary as I scream. "He's breaking the order that was proscribed for this stage of the investigation. They were to be in their rooms so that you could question them and I could place the bugs!" I spin around, my face red with fury as I yell at the long, empty, staring, watching halls. "There is to be an order and it must be maintained! Does he defy the order!?"

"Chill out man, get a grip!" I pause as I look over at Derek. My racing blood slowly calms. I shrug as I slip the gun back under my coat and smooth out my blue tie. "That's better," sighs Derek as he steps forward again. "I can't believe you just yelled all that stuff like that."

"Do you believe in that message?"

"What message man?"

"The message on your shirt?" Derek looks down at his Malcom X shirt and then back up at me, I can see he's grown a little bit more tense and aware. "Do you believe in it?"

"It ain't a message, it's just some dude's name."

"No! It's a message about destruction of the past!" I suddenly spring for him, grabbing onto the collar of the shirt as I scream at him. "Do you wish to destroy your past!?! What do you have to hide!?! Do you hide from justice!?! I live with my past and so should everyone else!!!"

"What the fuck!?" Derek grabs my face and twists me to the side. Then, with a slight grunt of effort, he hurls me back the other way, tossing me off him. I hear the shirt rip in my hands, I land with a crash and look at the tattered remains I clutch. "Damnit man, you looking for an ass whipping over a shirt?"

I look back at the shirt. All that's left is the 'X' the upper half of it having been shredded apart by my attack. I fold up the rest of it and tuck the pieces into my pocket. There's a solid message now. 'X' marks the spot. 'X' is the target being pointed out to me. Perhaps the guilty party? Yes, he is my number one suspect.

"No, actually I really like that shirt." 

* * *

"That has got to have been the most useless night I have had since becoming an immortal." Derek grumbles to himself as we ride the elevator back up out of the hospital. Out and away from the walls and the smells. I don't think I want to stay in that room anymore, I'll have to find something better. "I know I may have infinite nights and all that. But that was one wasted night! I guess you're happy though," he grumbles, "you got to sneak in your bugs."

"What do you mean," I ask in confusion. "They all knew what I was doing. I suspect they'll destroy them or just try and feed me false information."

"What?" Derek turned towards me, his face stuck in its eternal expression of confused annoyance. "Then you mean even...but if... Wht the fuck did we just spend the whole night planting bugs they knew about? It was a total waste, we did nothing, we got nothing!"

"On the contrary my ally in inquiry," I said with a chuckle as the elevator doors slid open. I breathed in the clean air, clean because it was away from that place. "I would say I got more then I ever hoped I could have. I've already narrowed down my suspects vastly. Now all I have to do is find the mad one."

"Oh, is that all?" 


	9. Fourth Law: Never Trust The Truth

Judicature of Madness  


Fourth Law: Never Trust the Truth 

My sire has ever believed that Sherlock Holmes was one of the greatest detectives to ever walk the face of the earth. This is not so. For Holmes was limited by what he saw. His obsession with facts and solid evidence hampered him by cutting out half of what he should have been looking for. The intangibles. The words, the thoughts, the feelings. It is with these tools that I can draw the lines. No solid fact can bend and twist and go backwards. But a thought? For a thought it is child's play.

They found and removed the bugs, they had all sensed what I was doing. Or sensed what they thought I was doing, but I fooled them. Their insanity helpless before my madness. They were distracted by what they thought was my true goal. And thus didn't realize all I learned just by watching and listening to them. Now I know their hopes, their dreams, their fears. These are the components of a man. If you understand them you can pull the strings perfectly. You can make them dance to whatever tune you like. You can draw the lines where they need to be drawn. Thus is a great detective, thus is justice. 

* * *

So why is it we're waiting out here, asks Derek. 

We stand in the back parking lot of the hospital. Both of us crouched low and hidden behind the dumpster. The snow falls down around us in soft clouds. I let it gather over me, holding still that I might be covered. Covered in the coldness. Covered in a mantle of white. Justice's color is white, white is might, might makes right, right is justice. Derek lurks next to me, a dark and powerful mass of muscle. He's wearing a plain black shirt, devoid of any pictures or writing.

Because of the clues, of course.

Derek waits quietly next to me. His lips slowly moving as he seems to be trying to puzzle something out. I watch the falling flakes that drift past my eyes. Tiny pieces of ice. Tiny ordered pieces. Tiny ordered bottles that bring peace. The orderlies go to pieces. The orderlies orderly no more. I told dad, I told him and he laughed and he cried. And there was the gun in my holster. Not a good idea to leave the murder weapon with the murderer.

You haven't been doing any investigating when I'm not around, have you? Derek turns towards me, his face a portrait of puzzlement. I just want to make sure I was there for the clues that you're talking about.

Of course you were.

Care to fill me in?

We need to talk to Tommy, he was mentioned too much to not be important. But he wasn't in his room when he should have been, he was ducking out on my investigation. Thus now we have to find and talk to him.

That's cool, says Derek with a shrug. But what the hell does that have to do with waiting out here? I mean, if he was ducking out wouldn't he just stay away for a couple days? Why come back here?

The cat food was almost gone.

Derek frowns as he works that one over. He then glances over at me and starts to ask another stupid question. Luckily I'm saved from having to explain the obvious when we hear the sounds of an approaching skateboard. I peer around the dumpster and watch the skinny figure come coasting into the parking lot on his skateboard. Tommy brings the board to a stop near the backdoor of the hospital. He pulls his backpack off his shoulder and opens it up, pulling out a bag of cans.

Hey Tommy, can we talk?

I step out in front of him. Derek quickly moves around behind. Tommy goes still, his head swiveling to look from one of us to the other. His lanky black hair hangs over his face, like a mask trying to hide his eyes and thoughts. He smiles at me and shrugs one shoulder, a few moments later he shrugs the other.

Hey, questions are cool.

Tommy: Jilean had a pretty interesting little file on him too. She tried to write him off as nothing more then a simple mental retardation case. But all you had to do was read the sections of the report she had left out to understand it. Just look for the words that belonged from where she had removed them. All you had to do was look into his eyes to know that there was more to him then she claimed. His eyes weren't those of a retard, they were those of a madman.

What do you know about Decker's death, kid? Derek crosses his arms and Tommy swivels around to look up at him. He smiles again and twists his head about, never meeting Derek's gaze.

Decker wascool. He, uh, he asked for strange stuff sometimes. But he was cool. He didn't like Crystal, she was trouble. She, uh, wanted him dead, he wanted her dead. Someone made them both happy?

I don't suppose you have any idea who? Derek motions at the hospital. Everyone in there seems to know you kid. I bet they all talk to you. So have you heard anything?

What about Phaedra? Both Derek and Tommy look over at me. Derek looking confused, Tommy looking agitated. She's got that axe, and you and I both know she likes to wander a bit.

What's with the cat food, mumbles Derek motioning to Tommy's bag, not following the clues.

It's not Phaedra, Tommy mutters nervously. The fingers of his hands start twisting around each other as he shakes his head vigorously. Not Phaedra!

But she's my number one suspect.

What's a suspect, Tommy asks.

It's the person who's guilty until proven innocent.

Derek's face screws up into a look of worried disgust. But why would he look at me that way? Tommy however has reacted as expected. His feet shuffle and shift him about, sliding through the snow and making little furrows down to the asphalt below. He walks back and forth, his feet making him a path of black amidst the fields of white.

me! It was me who did it, not Phaedra! I killed Decker.

You killed Decker, echoes Derek in confusion, still lagging behind the conversation. I shake my head.

No Tommy, I don't think you did. You wouldn't have the balls or the brains.

I'm smart, I'm dangerous. Tommy laughs at me as he makes an imitation gun with his hand and points it at me. I shot him, I shot him a lot and he died, Tommy laughs, I laugh and nod back.

You shot him?

I shot him!

He shot him, mutters Derek, still trying to catch up.

I shot him, crows Tommy with a laugh, shot him twice!

With your gun, I laugh with a nod of encouragement.

That's right!

This kid shot him?

And you didn't care when he screamed, I manage around my chuckles, I bet you kept shooting!

Kept shooting!

Should I arrest him?

Arrest me!

Cause you did it, didn't you?

I did it!

I punch him in the face. He collapses to the snowy ground, cans of cat food spilling out around him. He looks back at me in confused fear. Derek just waits, not knowing what's happening. I sneer down at Tommy.

Nope, don't buy it. You killing Decker, I wave my hand through the air as I close my eyes. Sorry, just can't picture it. My eyes snap open as I frown at him. It's got to be Phaedra.

No! I did it!

Derek, could you call the prince, I just solved the murder. Case closed.

Phaedra did it?

No, the case isn't closed! Tommy crawls on his knees over to me and clutches at my leg. Don't close the case, re-open the case. The case isn't closed, she didn't do it!

Do you mean that Tommy? I drop down to my knees and grab his shoulders. He looks up at me fearfully as I smile and look into his eyes. Do you really want to prove she didn't do it? Tommy nods mutely. Okay, that's good. Here's what I want you to do, are you listening? He nods again, his face becoming hopeful. I want you to tell me what it is Jilean isn't saying. What is it about the murders that she told all of you to keep from me?

What makes you think, Tommy begins.

Derek, are you calling the prince yet?

Wait! I'll tell! I'll tell! I turn back to Tommy and wait patiently. He licks his lips and looks around nervously. There was this problem. Donovan, he made a childe and then killed her. There was a blood hunt and Donovan made a big mess of things. I watch him carefully, he looks around once more. But Jilean got the prince to reverse his decision. Said that Donovan had messed up, but then fixed his own problem. The prince made her promise him some things, then he allowed Donovan to be pardoned.

Excellent work Tommy, that wasn't so hard, was it? He shrugs and curls his lip in trepidation. I smile as I stand up. Better hurry up and get that cat food in to Alice. Tommy quickly grabs the cans and scrambles to his feet. He turns and scampers into the hospital as I turn back to Derek. See, wasn't that helpful?

How was that helpful? I could have told you about the stuff with Donovan and his childe. It ain't exactly a big secret.

That's not what I'm talking about. Didn't you see when he didn't say anything? Now, let's see if I can get the answers I need out of Phaedra. 

* * *

Derek stands in the door of Phaedra's room and looks it over slowly. It's still full of books, and still has the axe, what's missing is her. We've already been through the lounge, and been through the hallways and rec room. I grin as I watch Derek, I wonder how long it will take him to figure out what I knew yesterday.

Where the heck is she? Derek steps into the room and looks around slowly. I know Jilean don't let out the real loony ones. She's got to be hiding around here somewhere. Should we split up?

But don't you want to find her?

my patience gives out, why must my Dr. Watson only have a doctorate in Eubonics?

Let's go for a walk. 

* * *

I lean down and pluck one of the flowers that grow on the clumps of bushes outside the parking garage. Only the last few dying buds are there, slowly shriveling under the sudden coming of snow. I hold it up to my nose and breathe in, the scent tickling at my senses. I smile as I tuck the flower into my pocket. I clasp my hands behind my back as I step back and peer around slowly and carefully. Derek stands next to me, his usual confused expression still in full force.

what the hell are we doing here?

The nightclub there is the closest one to the hospital. Not too bad of a walk, was it? I motion across the street to the brightly lit building. Must be easy to go there and find a couple fun guys, but then you'd need a nearby convenient place. I spot a nice shadowy alcove nearby, one that allows full view of the bush and the entrance to the darkened parking garage. Come, we'll wait in here.

Wait for what, Derek grumbles as he follows me into the shadows. He crosses his arms in annoyance as he glares at me. Are you going to start explaining things yet? So far your investigation' has been one jacked up pile of insane stupidity.

Mad stupidity.

Whatever man, but why are we here?

The sweat smell and the flowersElementary my dear Watson.

Jesus H Christ! Derek shoves one of his hands in my face, his finger waving under my nose. Are you ever going to start making some fucking sense? Now why the hell are we here, and don't tell me I should know already because this don't fucking make sense!

Do you believe in that message?

His hand falls back to protectively guard his shirt. Then he glances down at it again, looking over the plain, unadorned, black, cotton. He looks back up at me and snarls as he once more shoves his finger into my face.

There ain't no fucking message to believe asshole! It's a black shirt, that's it!

No, it's a message. White is might, might makes right, thus white is right. White is the opposite of black. Black is night, the concealing cover of darkness for the criminal elements. Thus black is wrong.

Are you fucki- His voice cuts off as I suddenly spring forward and grab his shirt.

Why must you mock me so! Why must you wear the shirts of anti-order! Damn you! You're all in on it, you're all against the justice! I'll kill you, I'll kill you all!!!

He slams back into the wall. He grunts as he grabs onto my wrists and squeezes, superhuman strength slowly crushing the bones in my hands. I snarl and spit as I rip and tear at him. But he is stronger, he peels me off and shoves me back. I come in again and he quickly elbows me in the face. Blood sprays from my mouth as I crumple to the snow.

What the fuck?

I hate that shirt!

You hate the shirt? Oh, you hate the fucking shirt. Fine! He grabs the shirt and rips it away, the cloth shredding off his body. He crumples it up, tosses it to the ground, and then stomps on it. How do you like the shirt now?

I look at the shirt. A fragment of black pounded deep into the white. The white slowly reaching up to cover and destroy the black. The figures in white coming for me. But they weren't good. The room was red, the holes were black. I had done wrong and the law was coming. I knew I deserved it, I had done wrong. But the court, such falseness in a building of white stone. The man in black robes had spoken to my man in a black suit. It's okay, no punishment, you were insane. There had been no justice.

I like the shirt now, it's a good message.

Fuck you.

Then we hear the voices. Derek crouches down next to me. I peer through the darkness and watch as they approach. Three men, three young men. Their faces hot and flushed, their bodies sticky with a sheen of sweat. They laugh and make noise like the unmindful and lustful beasts they are. Their eyes are wild and bloodshot. Their minds dulled by the alcohol they had consumed. In the middle of them, her dainty little white figure almost blocked out by their sweaty mass, was Phaedra. She smiled and laughed, her ponytails dancing around her pale face. But her eyes were dark, darker then even the dark mascarra around them.

What the hell, she shouldn't be out without an escort. That's Jilean's deal with the prince. None of the crazy ones should-

She's not crazyjust a little mad.

How did you know about this?

For certain? When Tommy told me.

What, in the parking lot?

No, in Alice's room.

But Tommy was never, Derek goes quiet as he tries to figure it out. Poor Watson, your problem is as unto the scarecrowif you only had a brain. 

While Derek probes little used cognitive centers I watch Phaedra. The largest of the three has her now inside the parking garage. There, in the darkness, he presses her up against a pillar and reaches under her dress. His friends exchange excited looks as they begin to fumble with their pants. I hear a quiet whimper from Phaedra, and then silence.

Her dark eyes stare over his shoulder as he thrusts into her. His breathing ragged, his mouth gasping next to her ear. She just stares quietly at nothing. Her eyes dark, surrounded by dark, on a face of white. Her dress all whiteher eyes so dark. Poor soul, so innocent and yet so guilty. I pull out my gun and stand up.

Skinner, m'man. What are you doing?

Get off her!

My voice echoes loudly through the garage. They gasp and spin around, sweat and other liquids flinging off their bodies as they see me coming. I pull out my wallet and flip it open. The badge glinting dimly in the darkness. My gun glints not at all, yet has more of their attention. Phaedra sighs as she leans against the cement pillar, her slim arms crossing over her exposed chest.

Damn, a goddamn cop!

You three just back away from her. Just step back before I blow all your heads off, and I'm not talking about the heads on your shoulders!

Oh shit!

Easy man, stutters the leader as he retreats. His feet tangled in his pants forcing him to take tiny, shuffling, steps. His two friends stumble along with him, their eyes fearful. He keeps talking, trying to sound calm, when all he feels is fear. We're backing off now, man. Just take it easy, no need to act crazy.

I shoot them, they scream and then die.

I'm not crazy.

Fuck Skinner! Derek storms up like an angry thundercloud. All black and rumbling. Is there lightning inside? He snarls at me as he looks down at the three bodies. What the hell did you do that for? Now we gotta clean this shit up!

Hello Phaedra, did I ruin the party? I smile at her as I walk over to her. She twists her head away, not looking at me. I grab her face and turn her back, I keep smiling. So did you get to feel anything tonight? Why don't you tell me about Decker?

You're mad, she whispers softly.

No shit, snarls Derek as he starts going through their pockets..

I know, believe me I know.

Well, I don't, I don't know anything. I can'tI don't know. She again tries to twist away from me, I again force her back. She whines softly, her dark eyes getting confused. Not supposed to talk about it. Hidden, it's supposed to be hidden. Words trapped in the head, could get out, could cut. Would it make me feel?

No, this won't make you feel, I say coldly. She mumbles, soft words of loss and despair. She struggles with her top, pulling the clinging material back up over her apple sized breasts. I sneer as I reach out and grab her dress, yanking down the top again. She gasps in surprise as I step back. Do you think pain will let you feel! Do you?

The gunshot echoes out loud and roaring in the dark place. Phaedra gasps as the heavy round tears a fist side hole in her chest and chews through her body to burst out of her back in a shower of red gore. She drops to the ground, such a silent fall after the loud roar. The black hole leaking the red liquid. The red coating the white, eating away at innocence. Derek and the orderlies shouting in surprise as they run forward. I look at them and they pause, fearing I might make a black hole in them. But Derekhe isn't white.

You're black.

Derek watches me for a few more minutes and then nods his head. That's right man, I'm black. Sowhy did you just shoot her?

oh, yes. I walk over to Phaedra and crouch down next to her head. How interesting that my aide is black and she is so white. I watch as the red slowly sinks back into the hole, and the blackness is covered over by fresh white skin. The evil being undone due to the glory of our nature. Her soft eyes flicker open and look at me. Don't you see Phaedra? It's all so fleeting. There is no feeling here. That's because your flesh is dead, it can no longer experience. Her eyes slowly focus in on me, her face looking confused. I pull the flower out of my pocket and place it near her nose. But the cerebral, yes, there we can still feel. There is one who cares for you, follows you, feels the hurt for you.

Tell me about Decker. Jilean doesn't want the case solved. She's protecting the clan. Who is it?

Can't tell.

Can't feel.

Her face goes very still, her eyes watching the waving of the dying flower as I gently brush it through the air. She reaches up and pulls my face down towards her. She whispers softly into my ear. I smile at her and whisper back Tommy's name. I drop the flower into her hand and stand up again. I nod to Derek and walk out of the garage and back into the crisp night air.

We've almost got it, I say proudly as we head back to Derek's van. All we need to do now is find out how interesting Donovan is, and look at Jilean's eyes.

Derek doesn't make a comment. Perhaps too worried about my methods. Perhaps still trying to figure out the evidence. He should have it all by now, it's very clear and straightforward. We circle around the parking garage, the snow still falling gently around us. Then there's a loud screech as a black Cadillac roars to a stop next to us. The door swings open and a dangerous looking man steps out. He motions to the car.

Mr. Skinner, the prince would like a word with you. 

* * *

Welcome Johan, won't you please have a seat. I step into the primogen meeting hall again. The prince sits at the head of the long table, an easy grin on his face. Behind him the shades have been pulled back to reveal the vast vista of the glittering city beyond. Prince in black against the glittering white lights he protects. God looking down from the darkness at the glittering stars he protects. Dad looking up at a dark figure who has become his god, god of god. Derek, please wait in the corner.

Derek comes through the door slowly, his face betraying his unease. I casually walk up to the table, my eyes picking out the two shapes that lurk quietly in the shadows. One is the thin and stooped Nosferatu primogen, his twisted face peering out of the shadows intently. The rat, here to listen and learn what happens. Back by the door stands a man, grim of feature and calm of stance. One look at his dark eyes assures me he's the executioner. At a word from prince Steven he shall spring forth to enact a justice of his own. I smile as I pull out my chair. I spot the piece of hair that lies upon the back of the plush seat, caught from the head of the person who had sat there but moments before. I grab it and slip it into my pocket. All becomes clear.

To what do I own the honor of this meeting, my lord prince? 

I bow to him before I sit, however this time he doesn't smile at my old style greeting. His face still remains calm and gentle. But for the fact I knew he should grin at my greeting I might have been fooled into thinking he was pleased and relaxed. This is not good, he is here to judge me. Justice does come for us all, but I still have much to do.

I have received some word of your activities. Let us say that I am concerned that your investigation is not going as I had hoped. He lifts a hand, the Nosferatu steps forward and slips a manilla folder into it. Steven flips it open and lays it on the table in front of him. You have done thousands of dollars of property damage to the hospital. You have physically attacked various members of the clan. You placed electronic listening devices within their rooms in an attempt to spy on them. And just an hour ago you slew three humans and took no steps to deal with the bodies. What do you have to say for yourself?

Tomorrow night.

Excuse me?

I shall have solved the case by tomorrow night and the guilty will have been dealt with.

Steven leans back in his chair, his eyes boring into me as he clasps his hands under his chin. His eyes flick to the figure behind me, obviously receiving some hidden message. There's a message in that, he doesn't trust me. There could be complications when the authorities don't trust the law. I should know. He turns his gaze to Derek.

Deputy, what is you opinion. Can Mr. Skinner do as he says?

I don't look at Derek, I don't need to. I can imagine the confused and wary glance he casts towards me. Can see him licking his lips as he gathers his thoughts. If he only had a brain What an interesting scarecrow to use to scare away justice from myself, at least for a little while. Still, I think it could be okay. Just as long as he doesn't mention the shirts.


	10. Fifth Law: Answers Were Made to be Quest...

Fifth Law: Answers Were Made to be Questioned  


Concentric circles. That's the best way to describe power. For power is the ability to surround and control. To dominate those who are lesser then you. However, they are concentric circles. Glance over your shoulder and you will realize that there is another circle there, slowly binding you in. Mom told me that, shortly before she slipped under. She said I had to remember to look over my shoulder.

This is very true within the power circles of the vampires. See? Circles, it's all about the circles that have been drawn around you. There is no real escape, for the circles shall ever trap you and try to force you to do their bidding. But justicejustice is the paper upon which the circles are drawn. It is the circles as it is the power, there is no escaping its reach if it decides to remove you. Me? I'm the eraser

* * *

The elevator hums as it lowers down into the depths. Lowering us down into the maw of madness. A small box of lights against the darkness. The lights on the box flickering and flashing. They said she was going, the pills had worked! But why wasn't she slipping away peacefully? The men in white were coming. The might of white. They would come and perform their miracles and save her. I looked at her eyes as she screamed for me to end it. Then I looked at the mirror nearby.

Well, you gonna say anything? I shake myself out of my memories and look up at Derek, he smirks at me. C'mon man, I know it's eating you up. How I could have sunk the whole operation. But I stuck by you, didn't I?

What is it you'd like, deputy?

A thank you maybe, or maybe you just telling me how you hope to have this sucka solved by tomorrow night. Hell, maybe just explain anything. Like that whole Phaedra thing? Now I'm not saying you don't seem to be onto something. But so far all you've seemed to do is wander around and make bizarre conclusions out of thin air.

Thick air.

The air was thick with the smell of the flowers. She wore one in her hair the night I broke the water pipes. Then there were the same flowers in Alice's room, she said Tommy picked them for her. He followed Phaedra when she went out. The flower smell in her room was strong from a constant influx. That meant she did it often, far more often then Jilean would have had me believe. She smelled of sweat too. We don't sweat, humans do. That tells me what I already knew about Jilean.

I watch Derek's eyes twitch as he takes the first steps down the road of understanding. That's cramad, I mean. Man, that's just mad cool.

Thank youI think.

But what was up with the whole matchmaking thing? Not that it didn't make me get all misty eyed. But, why try and hook her and Tommy up?

There is no justice in unrequited love.

* * *

Ah, the yellow tie, of course.

Donovan closes the book he was reading and slides it back onto the small bookshelf at the base of his bed. I spot the highlighter on the table seven feet away. Donovan is wearing his leather jacket. Some of the notes on the wall are new, some old ones have been taken down. I spot the pen and the pad of paper on top of the bookshelf. Donovan rubs a hand along the rough stubble of his chin and watches as we enter.

Hey Donovan, says Derek with a nod, he opens up his notebook. We just need to ask a few more questions. For starters, what can you tell us about Phaedra's whereabouts last night?

I offered to say something yesterday, why do they never listen? Donovan stood up from the bed and straightened his coat. He walked over to me, his eyes looking into my own. I see the glimmer of madness within them. Madness coated in sanity. I want you to listen to me Johan, and I want you to listen good. I'm talking justice here. Not truth or law, but justice. One of his hands slips into his pocket, I hear the slight rustling of papers. He seems to draw some strength from them. I want you to ignore me. I'm going to start talking, and you can't listen. What I say about Tommy is all going to be lies, understand?

Not much surprises me, I'm too good at my job. But I have to admit even I'm unsure where he's going with this one. I can see Derek out of the corner of my eye, he looks even more confused and lost then normal. I smile at Donovan, he'd best be careful. He isn't the only madman in this room. I reach out and motion for Derek to hand me the notebook. They both wait as I scribble down some extra questions for Derek to ask. If Donovan thought his madness could best me, he has another thing coming.

Sure, I understand.

I hope you're not lying, because if you are then I messed up again. Donovan sighs as he goes to sit down. But I think I can change it. The past isn't set if it's the future. But is it more important that it's my past, or that it will be your future? He lowers his head into his hands, his voice a thin trailing whine, as though he's suffered greatly. Or suffers even now. The mirror was broken, all the images didn't smile though. It was more then one reflection in a world of fragments.

He stiffens slightly, his voice trailing off. Then he lifts his head back up. His eyes narrow at the sight of me and Derek, his hand digs into his pocket and pulls out his notes. He flips through them quickly, his eyes dancing over the words. Then he pauses on the last one. His mouth twists into a snarling frown, then slowly lifts into an amused grin.

Now that is very interesting indeed. He laughs as he carefully rips the final note into tiny scraps of paper. But I don't think he fully understands the game yet. He looks back at Derek and I and smiles. Can I help you, officers?

We were talking about Tommy, says Derek, do you know where he was last night?

Interesting that you ask, I may have an idea or three. You don't want to hurt the kid, do you?

Why would we, answers Derek coldly.

It's just his actionswell, they're a little strange.

Why doesn't that surprise me anymore.

Donovan emits the faked laugh at Derek's words, his smile broad and easy. No, seriously though. Tommy has a habit of wishing to re-experience old thingsrevisit stuff he has done before.

Like the parking garage, injects Derek with a grin. His face lighting up as he glances at me, as though I should be impressed by his deduction. The scarecrow must be thinking he's gotten to the wizard and has been cured. 

Howcute.

agrees Donovan with a nod. Well, and I'm not sure what this means, but I saw him come in just before dawn. He was in a rush and slipped into his room. But, he had some stuff in his backpack. Perhaps if you were able to find it

Thanks for the tip, says Derek as he flips to the next question. He pauses as he reads it over and glances at me. I nod in reassurance. He swallows slightly and reads. Why did you murder your childe?

Donovan's eyes flick back and forth between us. His face looks innocently worried. But his eyes are darker. I have seen that look before, reflected back to me in mirrors year after year. Uh, you should really talk to Jilean about that. Why are you asking?

Just a little matter I need to sort out before dispensing the proper justice, I supply with a smirk.

Justice you say? Donovan's eyes flash dangerously. Justice, law, fairness, equity, judicature, finality. Samantha's justice? Or your own? Whose justice is more important? I don't quite remember. I think I just got confused during feeding, thought I had just started in the middle of it. Then realized what I had done and tried to put some back I just messed up.

Derek mutters as he flips to the next question. He stops dead and looks up to me. I grin at him and waggle my eyebrows slightly. Hello scarecrow, the brain ain't what you thought it was, huh? Don't worry, you're about to get a crash course in investigative madness. Derek grits his teeth. He reads my question. Count to a million.

Donovan laughs slightly.

Count to a million, repeats Derek, 

Donovan looks from him to me, and sees no humor in our eyes. He sighs and shrugs in exasperation. Then he starts to count. I step forward and tilt the cover on the lamp that sits on the table. The light now washes over Donovan's face, illuminating his eyes for me. I watch them patiently as he continues to count. The slow mantra of numbers washing over us like a trance. One thousand, two, three, four, five. The numbers drift by in ordered pace. We wait quietly. Then there is a slight faltering, his eyes glance up at me. His hand drifts towards his pocket even as he continues to count.

Derek, start the questions over. Donovan stops counting, both he and Derek look confused.

Uh, Donovan, why did you murder your childe?

Samantha? I didn't, he He looks up at me, his face twisting into an angry mask of sorrow and fury. Why do you think I did it! I tried to help! Why'd you do it! Yellow! His eyes are fixated on my tie now, his fingers clenching into fists. I hate yellow! Yellow you say? The color of cowardice, lies, weakness, betrayal. I didn't betray her!

Donovan springs from his seat and launches himself over the table at me. He slams into my chest, knocking me back into the wall. His fingers tighten around my tie and pull hard on it, the cloth cutting sharply into my neck. I'd breathe a sigh of relief that I don't need to breathe, but I can't. I quickly grab his wrists and try to twist him off me. But he fights quickly and with fury. One of his feet snaps out and connects hard into my knee. There's a pop as the bone dislocates.

I drop to the ground as Donovan falls upon me. His fingers gouge at my eyes as he continues to yank at my tie. His knees and elbows smash into my head and gut. Spittle sprays from his mouth as he screams about yellow. Then a dark shadow looms over us, Derek's hands clasp down on Donovan's shoulders and lifts him off me. Powerful arms lock around Donovan and squeeze tight to hold him still.

I got him!

You got him?

Derek tries to tell me to stop, but I've already grabbed the lamp. I swing it like a club, cracking the metal base across Donovan's jaw. He is thrown to the ground as Derek lets go of him. I quickly start kicking him in the ribs and stomping on his face.

Ask him about Tommy!

Donovan springs up at me. I grip his head and lock my arms about it. I swivel with the momentum of his rush and smash his face into the wall. He grunts in pain, so I smash him hard into the wall again. Ask him about Tommy!

I hear Derek's bellow even over the sound of me smacking Donovan's skull against the concrete. What the hell do you know about where Tommy was last night?

Fuck you! Donovan suddenly twists free of me. His hand lashes out and clips me across the face, knocking me back. I talked to him, but it didn't matter! Donovan spins around towards Derek, his fingernails lengthening into deadly claws. He still died for doing nothing!

Donovan springs forward, his claws slashing through the air. Derek twists desperately to avoid the deadly strike. He hisses in pain as the claws catch his shoulder and slice through leather and flesh as though they were jelly. Blood sprays from the wound as Derek staggers back. Donovan quickly spins around, one of his claws swinging out wide and cutting four parallel slashes of red across Derek's abdomen. Derek sprawls backwards onto the table, his eyes wide with fear as Donovan looms over him.

The gunshots roar like demons, the noise filling the room with a physical impact. My Desert Eagle bucks in my hand, the bullets gouging deep furrows into Donovan's back. With a startled howl he's tossed forward, his body flung about limply by the forceful blows of the rounds. He collapses to the ground, blood pooling around him in a reflective crimson puddle. A bloody mirror that reflects my own eyes back to me. Derek gingerly sits up, his hand clutching at his wounds as he nods his thanks.

So, it was him then? He did it?

What makes you say that, I ask with a sigh as I stand up and slide my gun back under my coat. He just didn't like my tie. I lean down and grab the fallen pieces of the note he tore up, and his book, that one he was reading with the highlighter.

So do we-

Leave him, we need to look in on Phaedra and Tommy.

I start out the door. Derek grumbles as he sets out after me. The hallway isn't calm now. All the doors slitting open and faces peering out. Curious as to the commotion. The faces, watching out and not caring when you're looking in. I ignore them, I walk down the halls, I find the door. Tommy's room.

I look through the little window. Just another doctor watching a life in progress

Tommy sits on his bed, his face eager and rapt. Phaedra wanders slowly around the room, her fingers brushing lightly over the contents and decorations. Cleaning supplies. Guns. Elvis memorabilia. Tea cups. Cat food. Books. Paintings. Horror movie posters. Dead flowers. Reports. Newspapers. But there are only two items of interest in the room.

One is the hanging tapestry along one wall. I've seen it before, in Crystal's office, at the murder scene. The second is a small plaque that lies haphazardly in the corner. Tommy Waters, Ph.D.

I watch as Phaedra softly smiles at him, Tommy's face splitting into a blissful grin. She presses her hands into his, her forehead meets his own. Their eyes dance as they look at each other, their mouths moving as they whisper softly. I can see Phaedra's eyes amongst her dark black mascara. But her eyes are no longer dark, they are bright and aware. I turn away and head down the hall again, Derek in hot pursuit.

What the hell is going on. What's happening?

Wait outside.

Derek looks up at my command, the first I've really given to him that didn't sound like a request. His hand is still wrapped tightly around his gut wound and he looks about ready to collapse. I walk up to the door to Jilean's office and storm through it. Derek pauses on the threshold, and then frowns as he slowly steps back. Maybe he thinks this just a clan thing. It is, but nothing that is a clan thing for Malkavians is just' anything.

I ask the answers, she agrees with her questions. 


End file.
